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Thaddeus  involuntarily  dropped  on  his  knees,  and  plucking  a  tuft  of  grass, 
he  pressed  it  to  his  lips,  exclaiming.  "  Farewell,  Poland !  "—Page  91. 

Tliaddeus  of  Warsaw. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW 


A  TALE  FOUNDED        «*        ^        ^ 
^      **      **      ON  POLISH  HEROISM 


By  MISS  JANE  PORTER 

Author  of  "SCOTTISH  CHIEFS" 


So  driven,  O  Poland  !  from  thy  ravaged  plains,  a 
houseless  wretch,  I  wandered  through  the  world 


A.  L.  BURT  COMPANY,     *    j»    j»    j»    j» 
*    j»    j»    j»    PUBLISHERS,  NEW  YORK 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


CHAPTER  L 


The  large  and  magnificent  palace  of  Villanow,  whose 
vast  domains  stretch  along  the  northern  bank  of  the  Vis- 
tula, was  the  favorite  residence  of  John  Sobieski,  King  of 
Poland.  That  monarch,  after  having  delivered  his  coun- 
try from  innumerable  enemies,  rescued  Vienna  and  subdued 
the  Turks,  retired  to  this  place  at  certain  seasons,  and 
thence  dispensed  those  acts  of  this  luminous  and  benevo- 
lent mind  which  rendered  his  name  great  and  his  people 
happy. 

When  Charles  the  Twelfth  of  Sweden  visited  the  tomb 
of  Sobieski,  at  Cracow,  he  exclaimed,  «« What  a  pity  that 
so  great  a  man  should  ever  die!"*  Another  generation 
saw  the  spirit  of  his  lamented  hero  revive  in  the  person  of 
his  descendant,  Constantine,  Count  Sobieski,  who,  in  a 
comparatively  private  station,  as  Palatine  of  Masovia,  and 
the  friend  rather  than  the  lord  of  his  vassals,  evinced  by  his 
actions  that  he  was  the  inheritor  of  his  forefather's  virtue  as 
well  as  of  his  blood. 

He  was  the  first  Polish  nobleman  who  granted  freedom 
to  his  peasants.  He  threw  down  their  mud  hovels  and 
built  comfortable  villages;  he  furnished  them  with  seed, 
cattle,  and  implements  of  husbandry,  and  calling  their 
families  together,  laid  before  .them  the  deed  of  their  en- 
franchisement; but  before  he  signed  it,  he  expressed  a  fear 
that  they  would  abuse  this  liberty  of  which  they  had  not 
had  experience,  and  become  licentious. 

"  No,"  returned  a  venerable  peasant;  "  when  we  were 

o  *  In  the  year  1683,  this  hero  raised  the  siege  of  Vienna,  then  be- 

leaguered by  the  Turks;  and  driving  iheui  out  of  Europe,  saved  Chris- 
2         tendom  from  a  Mohammedan  usurpation. 

a, 


%  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

ignorant  men,  and  possessed  no  property  of  onr  own  except 
these  staffs  in  our  hands,  we  were  destitute  of  all  manly 
motives  for  propriety  of  conduct;  but  you  have  taught  ua 
to  read  out  of  the  Holy  Book,  how  to  serve  God  and  honor 
the  king.  And  shall  we  not  respect  laws  which  thus  be- 
stow on  us,  and  insure  to  us,  the  fruits  of  our  labors  and 
the  favor  of  Heaven!" 

The  good  sense  and  truth  of  this  answer  were  manifested 
in  the  event.  On  the  emancipation  of  these  people,  they 
became  so  prosperous  in  business  and  correct  in  behavior 
that  the  example  of  the  palatine  was  speedily  followed  by 
the  Chancellor  Zamoiski  *  and  several  of  the  principal  no- 
bility. The  royal  Stanislaus'  beneficent  spirit  moved  in 
unison  with  that  of  Sobieski,  and  a  constitution  was  given 
to  Poland  to  place  her  in  the  first  rank  of  free  nations. 

Encircled  by  his  happy  tenantry,  and  within  the  bosom 
of  his  family,  this  illustrious  man  educated  Thaddeus,  the 
only  male  heir  of  his  name,  to  the  exercise  of  all  the  vir- 
tues which  ennoble  and  endear  the  possessor. 

But  this  reign  of  public  and  domestic  peace  was  not  to 
continue.  Three  formidable  and  apparently  friendly  states 
envied  the  effects  of  a  patriotism  they  would  not  imitate; 
and  in  the  beginning  of  the  year  1792,  regardless  of  exist- 
ing treaties,  broke  in  upon  the  unguarded  frontiers  of  Po- 
land, threatening  with  all  the  horrors  of  a  merciless  war 
the  properties,  lives,  and  liberties  of  the  people. 

The  family  of  Sobieski  had  ever  been  foremost  in  the 
ranks  of  their  country;  and  at  the  present  crisis  its  vener- 
able head  did  not  hang  behind  the  youngest  warrior  in 
preparations  for  the  field. 

On  the  evening  of  an  anniversary  of  the  birthday  of  his 
grandson,  the  palatine  rode  abroad  with  a  party  of  friends, 
who  had  been  celebrating  the  festival  with  their  presence. 
The  countess  (his  daughter)  and  Thaddeus  were  left  alone 
in  the  saloon.  She  sighed  as  she  gazed  on  her  son,  who 
stood  at  some  distance,  fitting  to  his  youthful  thigh  a 
variety  of  sabers,  which  his  servant  a  little  time  before  had 

*  TLis  family  Lad  ever  been  one  of  the  noblest  and  most  virtuous 
in  Poland.  And  bad  its  wisdom  been  listened  to  in  former  years  by 
certain  powerful  and  wildly  ambitious  lords,  tbat  once  great  kingdom 
would  never  bave  excbanged  its  long  line  of  bereuitary  native 
princes  for  an  elective  monarcby — tbat  arena  of  all  political  mii- 
cbiefs. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  \\ 

laid  upon  the  table.  She  observed  with  anxiety  the  eager- 
ness of  his  motion,  and  the  ardor  that  was  flashing  from 
his  eyes. 

"Thaddeus,"  said  she,  "lay  down  that  sword;  I  wish  to 
speak  with  you."  Thaddeus  looked  gayly  up.  "  My  dear 
Thaddeus!"  cried  his  mother,  and  tears  started  to  her  eye-. 
The  blush  of  enthusiasm  faded  from  his  face;  he  threw  the 
saber  from  him,  and  drew  near  the  countess. 

"  Why,  my  dear  mother,  do  you  distress  yourself? 
When  I  am  in  battle,  shall  I  not  have  my  grandfather  near 
me,  and  be  as  much  under  the  protection  of  God  as  at  this 
moment?" 

"  Yes,  my  child,"  answered  she,  "  God  will  protect  you. 
He  is  the  protector  of  the  orphan,  and  you  are  fatherless." 
The  countess  paused.  "  Here,  my  son,"  said  she,  giving 
him  a  sealed  packet,  "take  this;  it  will  reveal  to  you  the 
history  of  your  birth  and  the  name  of  your  father.  It  is 
necessary  that  you  should  know  a  painful  fact,  which  has 
hitherto  been  concealed  from  you  by  the  wish  and  noble 
judgment  of  your  grandfather."  Thaddeus  received  it, 
and  stood  silent  with  surprise.  "  Eead  it,  my  love,"  con- 
tinued she,  "but  go  to  your  own  apartments;  here  yon 
may  be  interrupted." 

Bewildered  by  the  manner  of  the  countess,  Thaddeus, 
without  answering,  instantly  obeyed.  Shutting 'himself 
within  his  study,  he  impatiently  opened  the  papers,  and 
soon  found  his  whole  attention  absorbed  in  the  following 
recital: 

"  To  my  dear  Son,  Thaddeus  Constantine  Sobieski. 

"  You  are  now,  my  Thaddeus,  at  the  early  age  of  nine- 
teen, going  to  engage  the  enemies  of  your  country.  Ere  1 
resign  my  greatest  comfort  to  the  casualties  of  war;  ere  I 
part  with  you,  perhaps  forever,  I  would  inform  you  who 
your  father  really  was — that  father  whose  existence  you 
have  hardly  known  and  whose  name  you  have  never  heard. 
You  believe  yourself  an  orphan,  your  mother  a  widow; 
but,  alas!  I  have  now  to  tell  you  that  you  were  made 
fatherless  by  the  perfidy  of  man,  not  by  the  dispensation  of 
Heaven. 

"Twenty-three  years  ago,  I  accompanied  my  father  in  a 
tour  through  Germany  and  Italy.  Grief  for  the  death  of 
my  mother  had  impaired  his  health,  and  the  physicians 


4  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

ordered  him  to  reside  in  a  warmer  climate;  accordingly  we 
fixed  ourselves  near  the  Arno.  During  several  visits  to 
Florence,  my  father  met  in  that  city  with  a  young 
Englishman  of  the  name  of  Sackville.  These  frequent 
meetings  opened  into  intimacy,  and  he  was  invited  to 
our  villa. 

"  Mr.  Sackville  was  not  only  the  most  interesting  man  I 
had  ever  seen,  but  the  most  accomplished,  and  his  heart 
seemed  the  seat  of  every  graceful  feeling.  He  was  the  first 
man  for  whose  society  I  felt  a  lively  preference.  I  used  to 
smile  at  this  strange  delight,  or  sometimes  weep;  for  the 
emotions  which  agitated  me  were  indefinable,  but  they 
were  enchanting,  and  unheedingly  I  gave  them  indulgence. 
The  hours  which  we  passed  together  in  the  interchange  of 
reciprocal  sentiments,  the  kind  beaming  of  his  looks,  the 
thousand  sighs  that  he  breathed,  the  half-uttered  sentences, 
all  conspired  to  rob  me  of  myself. 

"  Nearly  twelve  months  were  spent  in  these  delusions. 
During  the  last  three,  doubts  and  anguish  displaced  the 
blissful  reveries  of  an  infant  tenderness.  The  attentions 
of  Mr.  Sackville  died  away.  From  being  the  object  of  his 
constant  search,  he  then  sedulously  sought  to  avoid  me. 
"When  my  father  withdrew  to  his  closet,  he  would  take  his 
leave,  and  allow  me  to  walk  alone.  Solitary  and  wretched 
were  my- rambles.  I  had  full  leisure  to  compare  my  then 
disturbed  state  of  mind  with  the  comparative  peace  I  had 
enjoyed  in  my  own  country.  Immured  within  the  palace 
of  Villanow,  watching  the  declining  health  of  my  mother, 
I  knew  nothing  of  the  real  world,  the  little  I  had  learned 
of  society  being  drawn  from  books;  and,  uncorrected  by 
experience,  I  was  taught  to  believe  a  perfection  in  man 
which,  to  my  affliction,  I  since  found  to  be  but  a  poet's 
dream.  When  my  father  took  me  to  Italy,  I  continued 
averse  to  public  company.  In  such  seclusion,  the  presence 
of  Sackville,  being  almost  my  only  pleasure,  chased  from 
my  mind  its  usual  reserve,  and  gradually  and  surely  won 
upon  the  awakened  affections  of  my  heart.  Artless  and 
unwarned,  I  knew  not  the  nature  of  the  passion  which  I 
cherished  until  it  had  gained  an  ascendancy  that  menaced 
my  life. 

"  On  the  evening  of  one  of  those  days  in  which  I  had 
been  disappointed  of  seeing  this  too-dearly-prized  com- 
panion, I  strolled  out,  and,  hardly  conscious  of  my  actions, 


TRADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  5 

threw  myself  along  the  summit  of  a  flight  of  steps  in  our 
garden  that  led  down  to  the  Arno.  My  head  rested  against 
the  base  of  a  statue  which,  because  of  its  resemblance  to 
me,  Sackville  had  presented  to  my  father.  Every  recol- 
lected kindness  of  his  now  gave  me  additional  torment;  and 
clinging  to  the  pedestal  as  to  the  altar  of  my  adoration,  in 
the  bitterness  of  disappointment  I  addressed  the  insensible 
stone:  '  Oh!  were  I  pale  as  thou  art,  and  this  breast  as  cold 
and  still,  would  Sackville,  when  he  looked  on  me,  give  one 
sigh  to  the  creature  he  had  destroyed  V  My  sobs  followed 
this  adjuration,  and  the  next  moment  I  felt  myself  en- 
circled in  his  arms.  I  struggled,  and  almost  fainting  with 
shame  at  such  utter  weakness,  implored  to  be  released. 
He  did  release  me,  and,  in  an  agony  of  emotion,  besought 
my  pardon  for  the  misery  I  had  endured.  'Now,  Therese/ 
cried  he,  'all  is  as  it  ought  to  be!  you  are  my  only  hope. 
Consent  to  be  mine,  or  the  world  has  no  hold  on  me !'  His 
voice  was  hurried  and  incoherent.  Raising  my  eyes  to  his, 
I  beheld  them  wild  and  bloodshot.  Terrified  at  his  look, 
and  overcome  by  my  own  distracted  thoughts,  my  head 
sank  on  the  marble.  With  increased  violence  he  exclaimed, 
'Have  I  deceived  myself  here  too?  Therese,  did  you  not 
prefer  me?  Did  you  not  love  me?  Speak  now,  I  conjure 
you.  by  your  own  happiness  and  mine!  Do  you  reject 
me?'  He  clasped  my  hands  with  a  force  that  made  me 
tremble,  and  I  hardly  articulated,  'I  will  be  yours/  At 
these  words  he  hurried  me  down  a  dark  vista,  which  led 
out  of  the  gardens  to  the  open  country.  A  carriage  stood 
at  the  gate.  I  fearfully  asked  what  he  intended.  *  You 
have  given  yourself  to  me/  cried  he;  '  and  by  that  vow, 
written  in  heaven,  no  poAver  shall  separate  us  until  you  are 
mine  beyond  the  reach  of  man!'  Unnerved  in  body  and 
weak  in  mind,  I  yielded  to  his  impetuosity,  and  suffering 
him  to  lift  me  into  the  chariot,  was  carried  to  the  door  of 
the  nearest  monastery,  where  in  a  few  minutes  we  were 
married. 

"I  am  thus  particular  in  the  relation  of  every  incident, 
in  the  hope  that  you,  my  dear  son,  will  find  some  excuse 
for  my  great  imprudence — in  the  circumstances  of  my 
youth,  and  in  the  influence  which  a  man  who  seemed  all 
excellence  had  gained  over  my  heart.  However,  my  fault 
went  not  long  unpunished. 

"The  ceremony  past,  my  husband   conducted  me  in 


6  THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W. 

silence  back  to  the  carriage.  My  full  bosom  discharged  it. 
self  in  abundance  of  tears,  while  Sackville  sat  by  me,  with- 
out any  movement,  and  mute.  Two  or  three  times  I  raised 
my  eyes,  in  hopes  of  discerning  in  his  some  consolation  for 
my  hasty  compliance.  But  no;  his  gaze,  vacant  and  glar- 
ing, was  fixed  on  the  window,  and  his  brow  became  heavily 
clouded,  as  if  he  had  been  forced  into  an  alliance  with  one 
he  hated,  rather  than  had  just  made  a  voluntary  engage- 
ment with  the  woman  he  loved.  My  soul  shuddered  at 
this  commencement  of  a  contract  which  I  had  dared  to 
make  unsanctioned  by  my  father's  consent.  At  length  my 
sighs  seemed  to  startle  my  husband;  and  suddenly  turning 
round,  he  cried,  '  Therese,  this  marriage  must  not  be  told 
to  the  palatine.  I  have  been  precipitate.  It  would  ruin 
me  with  my  family.  Refrain,  only  for  one  month,  and 
then  I  will  publicly  acknowledge  you/  The  agitation  of 
his  features  and  the  feverish  burning  of  his  hand,  which 
then  held  mine,  alarmed  me.  Trembling  from  head  to 
foot,  I  answered,  'Sackville!  I  have  already  erred  enough 
in  consenting  to  this  stolen  marriage.  I  will  not  transgress 
further  by  concealing  it.  I  will  instantly  throw  myself  at 
my  father's  feet,  and  confess  all.'  His  countenance  dark- 
ened again.  c  Therese,'  said  he,  c  I  am  your  husband, 
You  have  sworn  to  obey  me,  and  till  I  allow  you,  divulge 
this  marriage  at  your  peril!'  This  last  stern  sentence,  and 
the  sterner  look  that  accompanied  it,  pierced  me  to  the 
heart,  and  I  fell  senseless  on  the  seat. 

"  When  I  recovered,  I  found  myself  at  the  foot  of  that 
statue  beneath  which  my  unfortunate  destiny  had  been 
fixed.  My  husband  was  leaning  over  me.  He  raised  me 
with  tenderness  from  the  ground,  and  conjured  me,  in  the 
mildest  accents,  to  be  comforted;  to  pardon  the  severity  of 
those  words,  which  had  arisen  from  a  fear  that  by  an  im- 
prudent avowal  on  my  part,  I  should  risk  both  his  happi- 
ness and  my  own.  He  informed  me  that  he  was  heir  to 
one  of  the  first  families  in  England;  and  before  he  set  out 
for  the  Continent,  he  had  pledged  his  honor  to  his  father 
never  to  enter  into  any  matrimonial  engagement  without 
first  acquainting  him  with  the  particulars  of  the  lady  and 
her  family.  Should  he  omit  this  duty,  his  father  declared 
that,  though  she  were  a  princess,  he  would  disinherit  him. 
and  never  again  admit  him  to  his  presence. 

"  '  Consider  this,  my  dear  Therese/  continued  he;  c  could 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  7 

yon  endure  to  behold  me  an  outcast,  and  stigmatized  with 
a  parent's  curse,  when  a  little  forbearance  on  your  part 
would  make  all  right?  I  know  I  have  been  hasty  in  acting 
as  I  have  done,  but  now  I  cannot  remedy  my  error.  To- 
morrow I  will  write  to  my  father,  describe  your  rank  and 
merits,  and  request  his  consent  to  our  immediate  union. 
The  moment  his  permission  arrives,  I  will  cast  myself  on 
the  palatine's  friendship,  and  reveal  what  has  passed.''  The 
tenderness  of  my  husband  blinded  my  reason,  and  with 
many  tears  I  sealed  his  forg7renes£;  and  pledged  my  faith 
on  his  word. 

"  My  dear  deceived  parent  little  suspected  the  perfidy  of 
his  guest.  He  detained  him  as  his  visitor,  and  often  rallied 
himself  on  the  hold  which  this  distinguished  stranger's  ac- 
complishments had  taken  on  his  heart.  Sackville's  manner 
to  me  in  public  was  obliging  and  free;  it  was  in  private 
only  that  I  found  the  tender,  the  capricious,  the  unkind 
husband.  Night  after  night  I  have  washed  the  memory  of 
.my  want  of  duty  to  my  father  with  bitter  tears;  but  my 
husband  was  dearer  to  me — he  was  more  precious  than  my 
life!  One  affectionate  look  from  him,  one  fond  word, 
would  solace  every  pain,  and  make  me  wait  the  arrival  of 
his  father's  letter  with  all  the  sanguine  anticipations  of 
youth  and  love. 

"A  fortnight  passed  away.  A  month — a  long  and 
lingering  month.  Another  month,  and  a  packet  of  letters 
was  presented  to  Sackville.  He  was  conversing  with  us. 
At  sight  of  the  superscri]3tion,  he  tore  open  the  paper,  ran 
his  eyes  over  a  few  lines,  and  then,  flushed  and  agitated, 
started  from  his  seat  and  left  the  room.  My  emotions  were 
almost  uncontrollable.  I  had  already  half-risen  from  my 
chair  to  follow  him,  when  the  palatine  exclaimed,  *  What 
can  be  in  that  letter?  Too  plainly  I  see  some  afflicting 
tidings.'  And  without  observing  me,  or  waiting  for  a  re- 
ply, he  hurried  out  after  him.  I  hastened  to  my  (hamber, 
where,  throwing  myself  on  my  bed,  I  tried,  by  all  the  de- 
lusions of  hope,  to  obtain  some  alleviation  from  the  pangs 
of  my  suspense. 

"  The  dinner-bell  roused  me  from  my  reverie.  Dread- 
ing to  excite  suspicion,  and  anxious  to  read  in  the  coun- 
tenance of  my  husband  the  denunciation  of  our  fate,  I 
obeyed  the  summons  and  descended  to  the  dining-room. 
On  entering  it,  my  eyes  irresistibly  waudered  round  to  fix 


g  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

themselves  on  Sackville.  He  was  leaning  against  a  pillar, 
his  face  pale  as  death.  My  father  looked  grave,  but  im- 
mediately took  his  seat,  and  tenderly  placed  his  friend  be- 
side him.  I  sat  down  in  silence.  Little  dinner  was  eaten, 
and  few  words  spoken.  As  for  myself,  my  agitation  almost 
choked  me.  I  felt  that  the  first  words  I  should  attempt 
to  pronounce  must  give  them  utterance,  and  that  their 
vehemence  would  betray  our  fatal  secret. 

"  When  the  servants  had  withdrawn,  Sackville  rose,  and 
said,  in  a  faltering  voice,  '  Count,  I  must  leave  you.' 
'  Nay,'  replied  the  palatine,  'you  are  unwell — disturbed — 
stay  till  to-morrow/  '  I  thank  your  excellency,'  answered 
he,  '  but  I  must  go  to  Florence  to-night.  You  shall  see 
me  again  before  to-morrow  afternoon;  all  will  then,  I  hope, 
be  settled  to  my  wish.'  My  husband  took  his  hat.  Mo- 
tionless, and  incapable  of  speaking,  I  sat  fixed  to  my  chair, 
in  the  direct  way  that  he  must  pass.  His  eye  met  mine. 
He  stopped  and  looked  at  me,  abruptly  snatched  my  hand; 
then  as  abruptly  quitting  it,  darted  out  of  the  room.  I 
never  saw  him  more. 

4 '  I  had  not  the  power  to  dissemble  another  moment.  I 
fell  back  into  the  arms  of  my  father.  He  did  not,  even  by 
this  imprudence,  read  what  I  almost  wished  him  to  guess, 
but,  with  all  the  indulgence  of  perfect  confidence,  lamented 
the  distress  of  Sackville,  and  the  sensibility  of  my  nature, 
which  sympathized  so  painfully  with  his  friend.  I  durst 
not  ask  what  was  the  distress  of  his  friend.  Abashed  at 
my  duplicity  to  my  father,  and  overwhelmed  with  a  thou- 
sand dreads,  I  obtained  his  permission  to  retire  to  my 
chamber. 

"The  next  day  I  met  him  with  calmness,  for  I  had 
schooled  my  heart  to  endure  the  sufferings  it  had  deserved. 
He  did  not  remark  my  recovered  tranquillity,  so  entirely 
was  his  generous  heart  occupied  in  conjecturing  the  cause 
of  Sackville's  grief,  who  had  acknowledged  having  received 
a  great  shock,  but  would  not  reveal  the  occasion.  This 
double  reserve  to  my  father  surprised  and  distressed  me, 
and  to  all  his  suppositions  I  said  little.  My  soul  was  too 
deeply  interested  in  the  subject  to  trust  to  the  faithfulness 
of  my  lips. 

"  The  morning  crept  slowly  on,  and  the  noon  appeared 
to  stand  still.  I  anxiously  watched  the  declining  sun,  as 
the  signal  for  my  husband's  return.    Two  hours  had  elapsed 


THADDEUS  OF  WAR8A  W.  9 

since  his  promised  time,  and  my  father  grew  so  impatient 
that  he  went  out  to  meet  him.  I  eagerly  wished  that  they 
might  miss  each  other.  I  should  then  see  Sackville  a  few 
minutes  alone,  and  by  one  word  be  comforted  or  driven  to 
despair. 

"  I  was  listening  to  every  footstep  that  sounded  under 
the  colonnade,  when  my  servant  brought  me  a  letter  which 
had  just  been  left  by  one  of  Mr.  Sackville's  grooms.  I 
broke  open  the  seal,  and  fell  senseless  on  the  floor  ere  I 
had  read  half  the  killing  contents." 

Thaddeus,  with  a  burning  cheek,  and  a  heart  all  at  once 
robbed  of  that  elastic  spring  which  till  now  had  ever  made 
him  the  happiest  of  the  happy,  took  up  the  letter  of  his 
father.  The  paper  was  worn,  and  blistered  with  his 
mother's  tears.  His  head  seemed  to  swim  as  he  contem- 
plated the  handwriting,  and  he  said  to  himself,  "  Am  I  to 
respect  or  to  abhor  him?"     He  proceeded  in  the  perusal. 

"To  Therese,  Countess  Sobieski. 

"  How,  Therese,  am  I  to  address  yon?  But  an  attempt 
to  palliate  my  conduct  would  be  to  no  purpose;  indeed  it 
is  impossible.  You  cannot  conceive  a  viler  opinion  of  me 
than  I  have  of  myself.  I  know  that  I  forfeit  all  claim  to 
honor,  in  the  most  delicate  point  of  your  noble  and  trust- 
ing heart! — that  I  have  sacrificed  your  tenderness  to  my 
distracted  passions;  but  you  shall  no  more  be  subject  to 
the  caprices  of  a  man  who  cannot  repay  your  innocent  love 
with  his  own.  You  have  no  guilt  to  torture  you;  and  you 
possess  virtues  which  will  render  you  tranquil  under  every 
calamity.  I  leave  you  to  your  own  purity,  and,  therefore, 
peace  of  mind.  Forget  the  ceremony  which  has  passed  be- 
tween us;  my  wretched  heart  disclaims  it  forever.  Your 
father  is  happily  ignorant  of  it;  pray  spare  him  the  anguish 
of  knowing  that  I  was  so  utterly  unworthy  of  his  kindness; 
I  feel  that  I  am  more  than  ungrateful  to  you  and  to  him. 
Therese,  your  most  inveterate  hate  cannot  more  strongly 
tell  me  than  I  can  tell  myself  that  to  you  I  have  been  a 
villain.  But  I  cannot  retract.  I  am  going  where  all  search 
will  be  vain;  and  I  now  bid  you  an  eternal  farewell.  May 
you  be  happier  than  ever  can  be  the  self-abhorring 

"ft.  S , 

"Florence/* 


10  TBADDEVS  OF  WARSAW. 

Thaddens,  after  a  brief  pause,  went  on  with  his  mother's 
narrative. 

"  When  my  senses  returned,  I  was  lying  on  the  floor, 
holding  the  half-perused  paper  in  my  hand.  Grief  and 
horror  had  locked  up  the  avenues  of  complaint,  and  I  sat 
as  one  petrified  to  stone.  My  father  entered.  At  the  sight 
of  me,  he  started  as  if  he  had  seen  a  specter.  His  well- 
known  features  opened  at  once  my  agonized  heart.  With 
fearful  cries  I  cast  myself  at  his  feet,  and  putting  the  letter 
into  his  hand,  clung,  almost  expiring,  to  his  knees. 

"  When  he  had  read  it,  he  flung  it  from  him,  and  drop- 
ping into  a  chair,  covered  his  face  with  his  hands.  I  looked 
up  imploringly,  for  I  could  not  speak.  My  father  stooped 
forward,  and  raising  me  in  his  arms,  pressed  me  to  his 
bosom.  '  My  Therese/  said  he,  '  it  is  I  who  have  done  this. 
Had  I  not  harbored  this  villain,  he  never  could  have  had 
an  opportunity  of  ruining  the  peace  of  my  child.'  In 
return  for  the  unexampled  indulgence  of  this  speech,  and 
his  repeated  assurances  of  forgiveness,  I  promised  to  forget 
a  man  who  could  have  had  so  little  respect  for  truth  and 
gratitude,  and  his  own  honor.  The  palatine  replied  that 
he  expected  such  a  resolution,  in  consequence  of  the  prin- 
ciples my  exemplary  mother  had  taught  me;  and  to  show 
me  how  far  dearer  to  him  was  my  real  tranquillity  than  any 
false  idea  of  impossible  restitution,  he  would  not  remove 
even  from  one  principality  to  another,  were  he  sure  by  that 
means  to  discover  Mr.  Sackville  and  to  avenge  my  wrongs. 
My  understanding  assented  to  the  justice  and  dignity  of  all 
he  said;  but  long  and  severe  were  my  struggles  before  I 
could  erase  from  my  soul  the  image  of  that  being  who  had 
been  the  lord  of  all  my  young  hopes. 

"  It  was  not  until  you,  my  dear  Thaddens,  were  born 
that  I  could  repay  the  goodness  of  my  father  with  the 
smiles  of  cheerfulness.  And  he  would  not  permit  me  to 
give  you  any  name  which  could  remind  him  or  myself  of 
the  faithless  husband  who  knew  not  even  of  your  existence; 
and  by  his  desire  I  christened  you  Thaddens  Constantine, 
after  himself,  and  his  best  beloved  friend,  General  Kosci- 
usko. You  have,  not  yet  seen  that  illustrious  Polander; 
his  prescient  watchfulness  for  his  country  keeps  him  so 
constantly  employed  on  the  frontiers.  He  is  now  with  the 
army  at  Wiunica,  whither  yuu  must  soon  go;  and  in  him 


Til  A  DDEU8  OF  WA  USA  W.  11 

you  may  study  one  of  the  brightest  models  of  patriotic  and 
martial  virtue  thai  ever  was  presented  to  mankind.  It  is 
well  said  of  him  that  '  he  would  have  shone  with  distin- 
guished luster  in  the  ages  of  chivalry/  Gallant,  generous, 
and  strictly  just,  he  commands  obedience  by  the  reverence 
in  which  he  is  held,  and  attaches  the  troops  to  his  person 
by  the  affability  of  his  manners  and  the  purity  of  his  life. 
He  teaches  chem  discipline,  endurance  of  fatigue,  and  con- 
tempt of  danger,  by  his  dauntless  example,  and  inspires 
them  with  confidence  by  his  tranquillity  in  the  tumult  of 
action  and  the  invincible  fortitude  with  which  he  meets 
the  most  adverse  stroke  of  misfortune.  His  modesty  \n 
victory  shows  him  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  among  men, 
and  his  magnanimity  under  defeat  confirms  him  to  be  a 
Christian  hero. 

"  Such  is  the  man  whose  name  you  share.  How  bitterly 
do  I  lament  that  the  one  to  which  nature  gave  you  a  claim 
was  so  unworthy  to  be  united  with  it,  and  that  of  my  no 
less -heroic  father! 

"  On  our  return  to  Poland,  the  story  which  the  palatine 
related,  when  questioned  about  my  apparently  iorlorn  state, 
was  simply  this:  '  My  daughter  was  married  and  widowed 
in  the  course  of  two  months.  Since  then,  to  root  from  her 
memory  as  much  as  possible  all  recollection  of  a  husband 
who  was  only  given  to  be  taken  away,  she  still  retains  my 
name;  and  her  son,  as  my  sole  heir,  shall  bear  no  other/ 
This  reply  satisfied  everyone;  the  king,  who  was  my  father's 
only  confidant,  gave  his  sanction  to  it,  and  no  further  in- 
quiries were  ever  made. 

"  You  are  now,  my  beloved  child,  entering  on  the  event- 
ful career  of  life.  God  only  knows,  when  the  venerable 
head  of  your  grandfather  is  laid  in  dust,  and  I,  too,  have 
shut  my  eyes  upon  you  in  this  world,  where  destiny  may 
send  you!  perhaps  to  the  country  of  your  father.  Should 
you  ever  meet  him — but  that  is  unlikely;  so  I  will  be  silent 
on  a  thought  which  nineteen  years  of  reflection  have  not 
yet  deprived  of  its  sting. 

"  Not  to  embitter  the  fresh  spring  of  your  youth,  my 
Thaddeus,  with  the  draught  that  has  poisoned  mine:  not 
to  implant  in  your  breast  hatred  of  a  parent  whom  you  may 
never  behold,  have  I  written  this;  but  to  inform  you  in 
fact  from  whom  you  sprang.  My  history  is  made  plain  to 
you,  that  no  unexpected  events  may  hereafter  perplex  your 


12  THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W. 

opinion  of  your  mother,  or  cause  a  blush  to  rise  on  that 
cheek  for  her,  which  from  your  grandfather  can  derive  no 
stain.  For  his  sake  as  well  as  for  mine,  whether  in  peace 
or  in  war,  may  the  angels  of  heaven  guard  my  boy!  This 
is  the  unceasing  prayer  of  thy  fond  mother, 

' '  Therese,  Countess  Sobieski. 
"Villanow,  March,  1792." 

When  he  finished  reading,  Thaddeus  held  the  papers  in 
his  hand;  but,  unable  to  recover  from  the  shock  of  their 
contents,  he  read  them  a  second  time  to  the  end;  then 
laying  them  on  the  table,  against  which  he  rested  his  now 
aching  head,  he  gave  vent  to  the  fullness  of  his  heart  in 
tears. 

The  countess,  anxious  for  the  effect  which  her  history 
might  have  made  on  her  son,  at  this  instant  entered  the 
room.  Seeing  him  in  so  dejected  an  attitude,  she  ap- 
proached, and  pressing  him  to  her  bosom,  silently  wept  with 
him.  Thaddeus,  ashamed  of  his  emotions,  yet  incapable 
of  dissembling  them,  struggled  a  moment  to  release  him- 
self from  her  arms.  The  countess,  mistaking  his  motive, 
said  in  a  melancholy  voice: 

"  And  do  you,  my  son,  despise  your  mother  for  the  weak- 
ness which  she  has  revealed  ?  Is  this  the  reception  that  I  ex- 
pected from  a  child  on  whose  affection  I  reposed  my  con- 
fidence and  my  comfort?" 

"  No,  my  mother,"  replied  Thaddeus;  "  it  is  your 
afflictions  which  have  distressed  me.  This  is  the  first  un- 
happy hour  I  ever  knew,  and  can  you  wonder  I  should  be 
affected?  Oh!  mother,"  continued  he,  laying  his  hand  on 
his  father's  letter,  ei  whatever  were  his  rank,  had  my  father 
,been  but  noble  in  mind,  I  would  have  gloried  in  bearing 
his  name;  but  now,  I  put  up  my  prayers  never  to  hear  it 
more." 

"Forget  him,"  cried  the  countess,  hiding  her  eyes  with 
her  handkerchief. 

" I  will,"  answered  Thaddeus,  "and  allow  my  memory 
to  dwell  on  the  virtues  of  my  mother  only." 

It  was  impossible  for  the  countess  or  her  son  to  conceal 
their  agitation  from  the  palatine,  who  now  opened  the 
door.  On  his  expressing  alarm  at  a  sight  so  unusual,  his 
daughter,  finding  herself  incapable  of  speaking,  put  into 
his  hand  the  letter  which  Thaddeus  had  just  read.     Sobi- 


TEA  D  I)  E  US  OF  WA  E8A  W.  13 

eski  cast  his  eye  over  the  first  lines;  lie  comprehended  their 
tendency,  and  seeing  the  countess  had  withdrawn,  he 
looked  toward  his  grandson.  Thaddeus  was  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  striving  to  command  himself  for  the 
conversation  he  anticipated  with  his  grandfather. 

"I  am  sorry,  Thaddeus,"  said  Sobieski,  "that  your 
mother  has  so  abruptly  imparted  to  you  the  real  country 
and  character  of  your  father.  I  see  that  his  villainy  has 
'distressed  a  heart  which  Heaven  has  made  alive  to  even  the 
slightest  appearance  of  dishonor.  But  be  consoled,  my 
son!  I  have  prevented  the  publicity  of  his  conduct  by  an 
ambiguous  story  of  your  mother's  widowhood.  Yet  not- 
withstanding this  arrangement,  she  has  judged  it  proper 
that  you  should  not  enter  general  society  without  being 
made  acquainted  with  the  true  events  of  your  birth.  I  be- 
lieve my  daughter  is  right.  And  cheer  yourself,  my  child! 
ever  -remembering  that  you  are  one  of  the  noblest  race  in 
Poland!  and  suffer  not  the  vices  of  one  parent  to  dim  the 
virtues  of  the  other." 

"  No,  my  lord,"  answered  his  grandson;  "  you  have  been 
more  than  a  parent  to  me;  and  henceforward,  for  your  sake 
as  well  as  my  own,  I  shall  hold  it  my  duty  to  forget  that  I 
draw  my  being  from  any  other  source  than  that  of  the 
house  of  Sobieski." 

"You  are  right,"  cried  the  palatine,  with  an  exulting 
emotion;  "you  have  the  spirit  of  your  ancestors,  and  I 
shall  live  to  see  you  add  glory  to  the  name!"  * 

The  beaming  eyes  and  smiling  lips  of  the  young  count 
declared  that  he  had  shaken  sorrow  from  his  heart.  His 
grandfather  pressed  his  hand  with  delight,  and  saw  in 
his  recovered  serenity  the  sure  promise  of  his  fond  proph- 
ecy. 

i 

*  John  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  was  the  most  renowned  sovereign 
of  his  time.  His  victories  over  the  Tartars  and  the  Turks  obtained 
for  him  the  admiration  of  Europe.  Would  it  might  be  said,  "the 
gratitude  also  of  her  posterity!"  For  his  signal  courage  and  won- 
drous generalship  on  the  field  of  Vienna,  against  the  latter  Moham- 
medan power,  rescued  Austria,  and  the  chief  part  of  Christendom  at 
that  time,  from  their  ruinous  grasp.  Where  was  the  memory  of 
these  things,  when  the  Austrian  emperor  marched  his  devastating 
legions  into  Poland,  in  the  year  1793? 


14  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  MILL  OF  MARIEMONT. 

The  fearful  day  arrived  when  Sobieski  and  his  grandson 
were  to  bid  adieu  to  Villanow  and  its  peaceful  scenes. 

The  well-poised  mind  of  the  veteran  bade  his  daughter 
farewell  with  a  fortitude  which  imparted  some  of  its 
strength  even  to  her.  But  when  Thaddeus,  ready  habited 
for  his  journey,  entered  the  room,  at  the  sight  of  his  mili- 
tary accouterments  she  shuddered;  and  when,  with  a  glow- 
ing countenance,  he  advanced,  smiling  through  his  tears, 
toward  her,  she  clasped  him  in  her  arms,  and  riveted  her 
lips  to  that  face  the  very  loveliness  of  which  added  to  her 
affliction.  She  gazed  at  him,  she  wept  on  his  neck,  she 
pressed  him  to  her  bosom.  "  Oh!  how  soon  might  all  that 
beauty  be  mingled  with  the  dust!  how  soon  might  that 
warm  heart,  which  then  beat  against  hers,  be  pierced  by 
the  sword — be  laid  on  the  ground,  mangled  and  bleeding, 
exposed  and  trampled  on!"  These  thoughts  thronged  upon 
her  soul,  and  deprived  her  of  her  sense.  She  was  borne 
away  by  her  maids,  while  the  palatine  compelled  Thaddeus 
to  quit  the  spot. 

It  was  not  until  the  lofty  battlements  of  Villanow 
blended  with  the  clouds  that  Thaddeus  could  throw  off  his 
melancholy.  The  parting  grief  of  his  mother  hung  on 
his  spirits;  and  heavy  and  frequent  were  his  sighs  while  he 
gazed  on  the  rustic  cottages  and  fertile  fields,  which  re- 
minded him  that  he  was  yet  passing  through  the  territories 
of  his  grandfather.  The  picturescpie  mill  of  Mariemont 
was  the  last  spot  on  which  his  sight  lingered.  The  ivy 
that  mantled  its  sides  sparkled  with  the  brightness  of  a 
shower  which  had  just  fallen;  and  the  rays  of  the  setting 
sun,  gleaming  on  its  shattered  wall,  made  it  an  object  of 
such  romantic  beauty  that  he  could  not  help  pointing  it 
out  to  his  fellow-travelers. 

While  the  eyes  of  General  Butzou,  who  was  in  the  car- 
riage, followed  the  direction  of  Thaddeus,  the  palatine 
observed  the  heightening  animation  of  the  old  man's 
features;  and  recollecting  at  the  same  time  the  transports 
which  he  himself  had  enjoyed  when  he  visited  that  place 
more  than  twenty  years  before,  he  put  his  hand  on  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W.  15 

shoulder  of  the  veteran,  and  exclaimed,  "  General,  did  you 
ever  relate  to  mv  boy  the  particulars  of  that  mill?" 

"No,  my  lord." 

"I  suppose/' continued  the  palatine.  "  the  same  reason 
deterred  you  from  speaking  of  it,  uncalled  for,  as  lessened 
my  wish  to  tell  the  story?  We  are  both  too  much  the 
heroes  of  the  tale  to  have  volunteered  the  recital." 

"  Does  your  excellency  mean,"  asked  Thaddeus,  "  the 
rescue  of  our  king  from  this  place?" 

"I  do." 

"I  have  an  indistinct  knowledge  of  the  affair,"  continued 
his  grandson,  "  from  I  forget  who,  and  should  be  grateful 
to  hear  it  clearly  told  me,  while  thus  looking  on  the  very 
spot." 

"But,"  said  the  palatine  gayly,  whose  object  was  to 
draw  his- grandson  from  melancholy  reflections,  "what  will 
you  say  to  me  turning  egotist?" 

"I  now  ask  the  story  of  you,"  returned  Thaddeus,  smil- 
ing; "besides,  as  soldiers  are  permitted  by  their  peaceful 
hearth  to  '  fight  their  battles  o'er  again,'  your  modesty,  my 
dear  grandfather,  cannot  object  to  repeat  one  to  me  on  the 
way  to  more." 

"Then,  as  a  preliminary,"  said  the  palatine,  "I  must 
suppose  it  is  unnecessary  to  tell  you  that  General  Butzou 
was  the  brave  soldier  who,  at  the  imminent  risk  of  his  own 
life,  saved  our  sovereign." 

"  Yes,  I  know  that!"  replied  the  young  count,  "and  that 
you  too  had  a  share  in  the  honor:  for  when  I  was  yesterday 
presented  to  his  majesty,  among  other  things  which  he  said, 
he  told  me  that,  under  Heaven,  he  believed  he  owed  his 
present  existence  to  General  Butzou  and  yourself." 

" So  very  little  to  me,"  resumed  the  palatine,  "that  I 
will,  to  the  best  of  my  recollection,  repeat  every  circum- 
stance of  the  affair.  Should  I  err,  I  must  beg  of  you, 
general  "  (turning  to  the  veteran),  "  to  put  me  right." 

Butzou,  with  a  glow  of  honest  exultation,  nodded  assent; 
and  Thaddeus  bowing  in  sign  of  attention,  his  smiling 
grandsire  began. 

"  It  was  on  a  Sunday  night,  the  3d  of  September,  in  the 
year  1771,  that  this  event  took  place.  At  that  time,  in- 
stigated by  the  courts  of  Vienna  and  Constantinople,  a 
band  of  traitorous  lords,  confederated  together,  were 
covertly  laying  waste   the   country,  and   perpetrating   all 


1G  TEA  T)  BE US  OF  WA USA  W. 

kinds  of  unsuspected  outrage  on  their  fellow-subjects  who 
adhered  to  the  king. 

"Among  their  numerous  crimes,  a  plan  was  laid  for  sur- 
prising and  taking  the  royal  person.  Casimir  Pulaski  was 
the  most  daring  of  their  leaders;  and,  assisted  by  Lukawski, 
Strawenski,  and  Kosinski,  three  Poles  unworthy  of  their 
names,  he  resolved  to  accomplish  his  design  or  perish. 
Accordingly,  these  men,  with  forty  other  conspirators,  in 
the  presence  of  their  commander  swore  with  the  most  hor- 
rid oaths  to  deliver  Stanislaus  alive  or  dead  into  his  hands. 

"About  a  month  after  this  meeting,  these  three  par- 
ricides of  their  country,  at  the  head  of  their  coadjutors, 
disguised  as  peasants,  and  concealing  their  arms  in  wagons 
of  hay,  which  they  drove  before  them,  entered  the  suburbs 
of  Warsaw  undetected. 

"It  was  about  ten  o'clock  p.m.,  on  the  3d  of  September, 
as  I  have  told  you,  they  found  an  apt  opportunity  to 
execute  their  scheme.  They  placed  themselves,  under 
cover  of  the  night,  in  those  avenues  of  the  city  through 
which  they  knew  his  majesty  must  pass  in  his  way  from 
Villanow,  where  he  had  been  dining  with  me.  His  carriage 
was  escorted  by  four  of  his  own  guards,  besides  myself  and 
some  of  mine.  We  had  scarcely  lost  sight  of  Villanow, 
when  the  conspirators  rushed  out  and  surrounded  us,  com- 
manding the  coachman  to  stop,  and  beating  down  the 
serving-men  with  the  butt  ends  of  their  muskets.  Several 
shots  were  fired  into  the  coach.  One  passed  through  my 
hat  as  I  was  getting  out,  sword  in  hand,  the  better  to  repel 
an  attack  the  motive  of  which  I  could  not  then  divine.  A 
cut  across  my  right  leg  with  a  saber  laid  me  under  the 
wheels;  and  while  in  that  situation,  I  heard  the  shot  pour- 
ing into  the  coach  like  hail,  and  felt  the  villains  stepping 
over  my  body  to  finish  the  murder  of  their  sovereign. 

"  It  was  then  that  our  friend  Butzou  (who  at  that  period 
was  a  private  soldier  in  my  service)  stood  between  his 
majesty  and  the  rebels,  parrying  many  a  stroke  aimed  at 
the  king;  but  at  last,  a  thrust  from  a  bayonet  into  his  gal- 
lant defender's  breast  cast  him  weltering  in  his  blood  upon 
me.  By  this  time  all  the  persons  who  had  formed  the 
escort  were  either  wounded  or  dispersed,  and  George 
Butzou,  our  friend's  only  brother,  was  slain.  So  dropped 
one  by  one  the  protectors  of  our  trampled  bodies  and  of 
our  outraged  monarch.     Secure  then  of  their  prey,  one  of 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  17 

tlie  assassins  opened  the  carriage  door,  and  with  shocking 
imprecations  seizing  the  king,  discharged  his  pistol  so  near 
his  majesty's  face  that  he  felt  the  heat  of  the  flash.  A 
second  villain  cut  him  on  the  forehead  with  a  saber,  while 
the  third,  who  was  on  horseback,  laying  hold  of  the  king's 
collar,  dragged  him  along  the  gronnd  through  the  suburbs 
of  the  city. 

"  During  the  latter  part  of  this  murderous  scene,  some 
>of  our  affrighted  people,  who  had  fled,  returned  with  a 
(detachment,  and  seeing  Butzou  and  me  apparently  lifeless, 
carried  us  to  the  royal  palace,  where  all  was  commotion  and 
distraction.  But  the  foot-guards  followed  the  track  which 
the  conspirators  had  taken.  In  one  of  the  streets  they 
found  the  king's  hat  dyed  in  blood,  and  his  pelisse  also. 
This  confirmed  their  apprehensions  of  his  death;  and  they 
came  back  filling  all  Warsaw  with  dismay. 

"  The  assassins,  meanwhile,  got  clear  of  the  town.  Find- 
ing, however,  that  the  king,  by  loss  of  blood,  was  not 
likely  to  exist  much  longer  by  dragging  him  toward  their 
employer,  and  that  delay  might  even  lose  them  his  dead 
body, "  they  mounted  him,  and  redoubled  their  speed. 
When  they  came  to  the  moat,  they  compelled  him  to  leap 
his  horse  across  it.  In  the  attempt  the  horse  fell  and 
broke  its  leg.  They  then  ordered  his  majesty,  fainting  as 
he  was,  to  mount  another  and  spur  it  over.  The  con- 
spirators had  no  sooner  passed  the  ditch,  and  saw  their 
king  fall  insensible  on  the  neck  of  his  horse,  than  they  tore 
from  his  breast  the  ribbon  of  the  black  eagle,  and  its 
diamond  cross.  Lukawski  was  so  foolishly  sure  of  his 
prisoner,  dead  or  alive,  that  he  quitted  his  charge,  and  re- 
paired with  these  spoils  to  Pulaski,  meaning  to  show  them 
as  proofs  of  his  success.  Many  of  the  other  plunderers, 
concluding  that  they  could  not  do  better  than  follow  their 
leader's  example,  fled  also,  tired  of  their  work,  leaving  only 
seven  of  the  party,  with  Kosinski  at  their  head,  to  remain 
over  the  unfortunate  Stanislaus,  who  shortly  after  re- 
covered from  his  swoon. 

"The  night  was  now  grown  so  dark,  they  could  not  be 
sure  of  their  way;  and  their  horses  stumbling  at  every  step, 
over  stumps  of  trees  and  hollows  in  the  earth,  increased 
their  apprehensions  to  such  a  degree  that  they  obliged  the 
king  to  keep  up  with  them  on  foot.  lie  literally  marked 
his  path  with  his  blood,  his  shoes  having  been  torn  off  in 


}g  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

the  struggle  at  the  carriage.  Thus  they  continued  wander- 
ing backward  and  forward,  and  round  the  outskirts  of  War- 
saw, without  any  exact  knowledge  of  their  situation.  The 
men  who  guarded  him  at  last  became  so  afraid  of  their 
prisoner's  taking  advantage  of  these  circumstances  to 
escape  that  they  repeatedly  called  on  Kosinski  for  orders 
to  put  him  to  death.  Kosinski  refused;  but  their  demands 
growing  more  imperious,  as  the  intricacies  of  the  forest 
involved  them  completely,  the  king  expected  every  mo- 
ment to  find  their  bayonets  in  his  breast. 

"Meanwhile,"  continued  the  palatine,  "when  I  re- 
covered from  my  swoon  in  the  palace,  my  leg  had  been 
bound  up,  and  I  felt  able  to  stir.  Questioning  the  officers 
who  stood  about  my  couch,  I  found  that  a  general  panic 
had  seized  them.  They  knew  not  how  to  proceed;  they 
shuddered  at  leaving  the  king  to  the  mercy  of  the  con- 
federates, and  yet  were  fearful,  by  pursuing  him  further, 
to  incense  them  through  terror  or  revenge  to  massacre 
their  prisoner,  if  he  were  still  alive.  I  did  all  that  was  in 
my  power  to  dispel  this  last  dread.  Anxious,  at  any  rate, 
to  make  another  attempt  to  preserve  him,  though  I  could 
not  ride  myself,  I  strenuously  advised  an  immediate  pur- 
suit on  horseback,  and  insisted  that  neither  darkness  nor 
apprehension  of  increasing  danger  should  be  permitted  to 
impede  their  course.  Recovered  presence  of  mind  in  the 
nobles  restored  hope  and  animation  to  the  terrified  soldiers, 
and  my  orders  were  obeyed.  But  I  must  add,  they  were 
soon  disappointed,  for  in  less  than  half  an  hour  the  de- 
tachment returned  in  despair,  showing  me  his  majesty's 
coat,  which  they  had  found  in  the  fosse.  I  suppose  the 
ruffians  tore  it  off  when  they  rifled  him.  It  was  rent  in 
several  places,  and  so  wet  with  blood  that  the  officer  who 
presented  it  to  me  concluded  they  had  murdered  the  king 
there,  and  drawn  away  his  body,  for  by  the  light  of  the 
torches  the  soldiers  could  trace  drops  of  blood  to  a  con- 
siderable distance. 

"  While  I  was  attempting  to  invalidate  this  new  evi- 
dence of  his  majesty's  being  beyond  the  reach  of  succor,  he 
was  driven  before  the  seven  conspirators  so  far  into  the 
wood  of  Bielany  that,  not  knowing  whither  they  went,  they 
came  up  with  one  of  the  guard-houses,  and,  to  their  ex- 
treme terror,  were  accosted  by  a  patrol.  Four  of  the  ban- 
ditti immediately  disappeared,  leaving  two  only  with  Ko- 


THADDEUt  OF  WARSAW.  19 

sinski,  who,  much  alarmed,  forced  his  prisoner  to  walk 
faster  and  keep  a  profound  silence.  Notwithstanding  all  this 
precaution,  scarce  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterward  they  were 
challenged  by  a  second  watch;  and  the  other  two  men  tak- 
ing flight,  Kosinski,  full  of  indignation  at  their  desertion, 
was  left  alone  with  the  king.  His  majesty,  sinking  with 
pain  and  fatigue,  besought  permission  to  rest  for  a  moment; 
but  Kosinski  refused,  and  pointing  his  sword  toward  the 
king,  compelled  him  to  proceed. 

"As  they  walked  on,  the  insulted  monarch,  who  was 
hardly  able  to  drag  one  limb  after  the  other,  observed  that 
his  conductor  gradually  forgot  his  vigilance,  until  he  was 
thoroughly  given  up  to  thought.  The  king  conceived  some 
hope  from  this  change,  and  ventured  to  say,  '  I  see  that 
you  know  Jiot  how  to  proceed.  You  cannot  but  be  aware 
that  the  enterprise  in  which  you  are  engaged,  however  it 
may  end,  is  full  of  peril  to  you.  Successful  conspirators 
are'  always  jealous  of  each  other.  Pulaski  will  find  it  as 
easy  to  rid  himself  of  your  life  as  it  is  to  take  mine.  Avoid 
that  danger,  and  I  will  promise  you  none  on  my  account. 
Suffer  me  to  enter  the  convent  of  Bielany:  we  cannot  be 
far  from  it;  and  then,  do  you  provide  for  your  own  safety.' 
Kosinski,  though  rendered  desperate  by  the  circumstances 
in  which  he  was  involved,  replied,  '  No;  I  have  sworn,  and 
I  would  rather  sacrifice  my  life  than  my  honor/ 

"  The  king  had  neither  strength  nor  spirits  to  urge  him 
further,  and  they  continued  to  break  their  way  through 
the  bewildering  underwood  until  they  approached  Marie- 
mont.  Here  Stanislaus,  unable  to  stir  another  step,  sank 
down  at  the  foot  of  the  old  yew  tree,  and  again  implored 
for  one  moment's  rest.  Kosinski  no  longer  refused.  This 
unexpected  humanity  encouraged  his  majesty  to  employ 
the  minutes  they  sat  together  in  another  attempt  to  soften 
his  heart,  and  to  convince  him  that  the  oath  which  he  had 
taken  was  atrocious,  and  by  no  means  binding  to  a  brave 
and  virtuous  man. 

"  Kosinski  heard  him  with  attention,  and  even  showed 
he  was  affected.  '  But,'  said  he,  '  if  I  should  assent  to 
what  you  propose,  and  reconduct  you  to  Warsaw,  what  will 
be  the  consequence  to  me?  1  shall  be  taken  and  executed.' 
'I  give  you  my  word,'  answered  the  king,  '  that  you  shall 
not  suffer  any  injury.  But  if  you  doubl  my  honor,  escape 
while  you  can.     1  shall  find  sooae  place  of  shelter,  and  will 


20  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

direct  your  pursuers  to  take  the  opposite  road  to  that  which 
you  may  choose/  Kosinski,  entirely  overcome,  threw  him- 
self on  his  knees  before  his  majesty,  and  imploring  pardon 
from  Heaven  for  what  he  had  done,  swore  that  from  this 
hour  he  would  defend  his  king  against  all  the  conspirators, 
and  trust  confidently  in  his  word  for  future  preservation. 
Stanislaus  repeated  his  promise  of  forgiveness  and  protec- 
tion, and  directed  him  to  seek  refuge  for  them  both  in  the 
mill  near  which  they  were  discoursing.  Kosinski  obeyed. 
He  knocked,  but  no  one  gave  answer.  He  then  broke  a 
pane  of  glass  in  the  window,  and  through  it  begged  succor 
for  a  nobleman  who  had  been  waylaid  by  robbers.  The 
miller  refused  to  come  out,  or  to  let  the  applicants  in,  ex- 
pressing his  belief  that  they  were  robbers  themselves,  and 
if  they  did  not  go  away  he  would  fire  on  them. 

"  This  dispute  had  continued  some  time,  when  the  king 
contrived  to  crawl  up  close  to  the  windows  and  spoke. 
'  My  good  friend/  said  he,  '  if  we  were  banditti,  as  you 
suppose,  it  would  be  as  easy  for  us,  without  all  this  parley, 
to  break  into  your  house  as  to  break  this  pane  of  glass; 
therefore,  if  you  would  not  incur  the  shame  of  suffering  a 
fellow-creature  to  perish  for  want  of  assistance,  give  us  ad- 
mittance.' This  plain  argument  had  its  weight  upon  the 
man,  and  opening  the  door,  he  desired  them  to  enter. 
After  some  trouble,  his  majesty  procured  pen  and  ink,  and 
addressing  a  few  lines  to  me  at  the  palace,  with  difficulty 
prevailed  on  one  of  the  miller's  sons  to  carry  it,  so  fearful 
were  they  of  falling  in  with  any  of  the  troop  who  they  un- 
derstood had  plundered  their  guests. 

"  My  joy  at  the  sight  of  this  note  I  cannot  describe.  I 
well  remember  the  contents;  they  were  literally  these: 

"  '  By  the  miraculous  hand  of  Providence  I  have  escaped 
from  the  hands  of  assassins.  I  am  now  at  the  mill  of 
Mariemont.  Send  immediately  and  take  me  hence.  I  am 
wounded,  but  not  dangerously.' 

"  Regardless  of  my  own  condition,  I  instantly  got  into  a 
carriage,  and  followed  by  a  detachment  of  horse,  arrived 
at  the  mill.  I  met  Kosinski  at  the  door,  keeping  guard 
with  his  SAvord  drawn.  As  he  knew  my  person,  he  admit- 
ted me  directly.  The  king  had  fallen  into  a  sleep,  and  lay 
in  one  corner  of  the  hovel  on  the  ground,  covered  with  the 
miller's  cloak.  To  see  the  most  virtuous  monarch  in  the 
world  thus  abused  by  a  party  of  ungrateful  subjects  pierced 


TEA  DDE US  OF  WARSAW.  21 

me  to  the  heart.  Kneeling  down  by  his  side,  I  took  hold 
of  his  hand,  and  in  a  paroxysm  of  tears,  which  I  am  not 
ashamed  to  confess,  I  exclaimed,  '  I  thank  thee,  Almighty 
God,  that  I  again  see  our  true-hearted  sovereign  still  aliver 
It  is  not  easy  to  say  how  these  words  struck  the  simple 
family.  They  dropped  on  their  knees  before  the  king, 
whom  my  voice  had  awakened,  and  besought  his  pardon 
for  their  recent  opposition  to  give  him  entrance.  The  good 
Stanislaus  soon  quieted  their  fears,  and  graciously  thank- 
ing them  for  their  kindness,  told  the  miller  to  come  to  the 
palace  the  next  day,  when  he  would  show  him  his  gratitude 
in  a  better  way  than  by  promises. 

"  The  officers  of  the  detachment  then  assisted  his  majesty 
and  myself  into  the  carriage,  and  accompanied  by  Kosin- 
ski,  we  reached  Warsaw  about  six  in  the  morning." 

"Yes,"  interrupted  Butzon;  "  I  remember  my  tumultu- 
ous joy  when  the  news  was  brought  to  me  in  my  bed  that 
my  brave  brother  had  not  died  in  vain  for  his  sovereign;  it 
almost  deprived  me  of  my  senses;  and  besides,  his  majesty 
visited  me,  his  poor  soldier,  in  my  chamber.  Does  not 
your  excellency  recollect  how  he  was  brought  into  my  room 
on  a  chair  between  two  men?  and  how  he  thanked  me,  and 
shook  hands  with  me  and  told  me  my  brother  should  never 
be  forgotten  in  Poland?    It  made  me  weep  like  a  child." 

"  And  he  never  can!"  cried  Thaddeus,  hardly  recovering 
from  the  deep  attention  with  which  he  had  listened  to  this 
recital.*  "  But  what  became  of  Kosinski?  For  doubtless 
the  king  kept  his  word." 

"He  did  indeed,"  replied  Sobieski;  "his  word  is  at  all 
times  sacred.  Yet  I  believed  Kosinski  entertained  fears 
that  he  would  not  be  so  generous,  for  I  perceived  him 
change  color  very  of  ten  while  we  were  in  the  coach.  How- 
ever, he  became  tranquilized  when  his  majesty,  on  alighting 
at  the  palace  in  the  midst  of  the  joyous  cries  of  the  people, 
leaned  upon  his  arm  and  presented  him  to  the  populace  as 

*  The  king  bad  his  brave  defender  buried  witb  military  bonors, 
and  caused  a  noble  monument  to  be  raised  over  him,  with  an  inscrip- 
tion, of  which  tbe  following  is  a  translation  : 

"  Here  lieth  the  respected  remains  of  George  Butzou,  who,  on  the 
3d  of  September,  1771,  opposing  his  own  breast  to  shield  his  sov- 
ereign from  the  weapons  of  national  parricides,  was  pierced  with  a 
mortal  wound,  and  triumphantly  expired.  Stanislaus  the  king, 
lamenting  the  death  of  so  faithful  a  subject,  erected  this  monument 
as  a  tribute  to  him  and  an  example  of  heroic  duty  to  others." 


22  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

liis  preserver.  The  great  gate  was  ordered  to  be  left  open; 
and  never  while  I  live  shall  I  again  behold  such  a  scene! 
Every  loyal  soul  in  Warsaw,  from  the  highest  to  the  lowest, 
came  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  their  rescued  sovereign.  See- 
ing the  doors  free,  they  entered  without  ceremony,  and 
thronged  forward  in  crowds  to  get  near  enough  to  kiss  his 
hand,  or  to  touch  his  clothes;  then,  elated  with  joy,  they 
turned  to  Kosinski,  and  loaded  him  with  demonstrations 
of  gratitude,  calling  him  the  '  savior  of  the  king.'  Kosin- 
ski bore  all  this  with  surprising  firmness;  but  in  a  day  or 
two,  when  the  facts  became  known,  he  feared  he  might 
meet  with  different  treatment  from  the  people,  and  there- 
fore petitioned  his  majesty  for  leave  to  depart.  Stanislaus 
consented,  and  he  retired  to  Semigallia,  where  he  now  lives 
on  a  handsome  pension  from  the  king." 

"Generous  Stanislaus!"  exclaimed  the  general;  "you 
see,  my  dear  young  count,  how  he  has  rewarded  me  for 
doing  that  which  was  merely  my  duty.  He  put  it  at  my 
option  to  become  what  I  pleased  about  his  person,  or  to 
hold  an  officer's  rank  in  his  body-guard.  Love  ennobles 
servitude;  and  attached  as  I  have  ever  been  to  your  family, 
under  whom  all  my  ancestors  have  lived  and  fought,  I 
vowed  in  my  own  mind  never  to  quit  it,  and  accordingly 
begged  permission  of  my  sovereign  to  remain  with  the  Count 
Sobieski.  I  did  remain;  but  see,"  cried  he,  his  voice  fal- 
tering, "  what  my  benefactors  have  made  of  me.  I  com- 
mand those  troops  among  whom  it  was  once  my  greatest 
pride  to  be  a  private  soldier." 

Thaddeus  pressed  the  hand  of  the  veteran  between  both 
his,  and  regarded  him  with  respect  and  affection,  while 
the  grateful  old  man  wiped  away  a  gliding  tear  from  his 
face.* 

"  How  happy  it  ought  to  make  you,  my  son,"  observed 
Sobieski,  "that  yon  are  called  out  to  support  such  a  sov- 
ereign! He  is  not  merely  a  brave  king,  whom  you  would 
follow  to  battle,  because  he  will  lead  you  to  honor;  the 

*Lukawski  and  Strawenski  were  afterward  both  taken,  with 
others  of  the  conspirators.  At  the  king's  entreaty,  those  of  inferior 
rank  were  pardoned  after  condemnation;  but  the  two  noblemen  who 
had  deluded  them  were  beheaded.  Pulaski,  the  prime  ring-leader, 
escaped,  tc  the  wretched  life  of  an  outlaw  and  an  exile,  and  finally 
died  iu  America,  in  1779. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  23 

hearts  of  his  people  acknowledge  him  in  a  superior  light; 
they  look  on  him  as  their  patriarchal  head,  as  being  dele- 
gated of  God  to  study  what  is  their  greatest  good,  to  bestow 
it,  and  when  it  is  attacked,  to  defend  it.  To  preserve  the 
life  of  such  a  sovereign,  who  would  not  sacrifice  his  own?" 

''Yes,"  cried  Butzou;  "  and  how  ought  we  to  abhor 
those  who  threaten  his  life  I  How  ought  we  to  estimate 
those  crowned  heads  who,  under  the  mask  of  amity,  have 
from  the  year  '64,  when  he  ascended  the  throne,  un- 
til now,  been  plotting  his  overthrow  or  death!  Either 
calamity,  0  Heaven,  avert!  for  his  death,  I  fear,  will  be  a 
prelude  to  the  certain  ruin  of  our  country." 

"  Not  so.."  interrupted  Thaddeus,  with  eagerness;  "  not 
while  a  Polander  has  power  to  lift  an  arm  in  defense  of  a 
native  king,  and  an  hereditary  succession,  can  she  be  quite 
lost!  What  was  ever  in  the  hearts  of  her  people  that  is 
not  now  there?  For  one,  I  can  never  forgot  how  her  sons 
have  more  than  once  rolled  back  on  their  own  lands  legions 
of  invaders,  from  those  very  countries  now  daring  to 
threaten  her  existence!" 

Butzou  applauded  his  spirit,  and  was  warmly  seconded 
by  the  palatine,  who  (never  weary  of  infusing  into  every 
feeling  of  his  grandson  an  interest  for  his  country)  pursued 
the  discourse,  and  dwelt  minutely  on  the  happy  tendency 
of  the  glorious  constitution  of  1791,  in  defense  of  which 
they  were  now  going  to  hazard  their  lives.  As  Sobieski 
pointed  out  its  several  excellences,  and  expatiated  on  the 
pure  spirit  of  freedom  which  animated  its  revived  laws, 
the  soul  of  Thaddeus  followed  his  eloquence  with  all  the 
fervor  of  youth,  forgetting  his  late  domestic  regrets  in  the 
warm  aspiratr'ms  of  patriotic  hopes;  and  at  noon  on  the 
third  day,  with  smiling  eyes  he  saw  his  grandfather  put 
himself  at  the  head  of  his  battalions  and  commence  a  rapid 
march. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   OPENING   OF  THE   CAMPAIGN". 

The  little  army  of  the  palatine  passed  by  the  battle- 
ments of  Chelm,  crossed  the  Bug  into  the  plains  of  Vol- 
hinia,  and  impatiently  counted  the  leagues  over  those  vast 
bracts  until  U  rallied' the  harder*  q%  Kioyia. 


24  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

When  the  column  at  the  head  of  which  Thaddens  waff 
stationed  descended  the  heights  of  Lininy,  and  the  broad 
camp  of  his  countrymen  burst  upon  his  sight,  his  heart 
heaved  with  an  emotion  quite  new  to  him.  He  beheld 
with  admiration  the  regular  disposition  of  the  intrench- 
ments,  the  long  intersected  tented  streets,  and  the  warlike 
appearance  of  the  soldiers,  whom  he  could  descry,  even  at 
that  distance,  by  the  beams  of  a  bright  evening  sun  which 
shone  upon  their  arms. 

In  half  an  hour  his  troops  descended  into  the  plain, 
where,  meeting  those  of  the  palatine  and  General  Butzou, 
the  three  columns  again  united,  and  Thaddeus  joined  his 
grandfather  in  the  van. 

"  My  lord,"  cried  he,  as  they  met,  "  can  I  behold  such  a 
sight  and  despair  of  the  freedom  of  Poland!" 

Sobieski  made  no  reply,  but  giving  him  one  of  those  ex- 
pressive looks  of  approbation  which  immediately  makes  its 
way  to  the  soul,  commanded  the  troops  to  advance  with 
greater  speed.  In  a  few  minutes  they  reached  the  out- 
works of  the  camp,  and  entered  the  lines.  The  eager  eyes 
of  Thaddeus  wandered  from  object  to  object.  Thrilling 
with  that  delight  with  which  youth  beholds  wonders,  and 
anticipates  more,  he  stopped  with  the  rest  of  the  party  be- 
fore a  tent,  which  General  Butzou  informed  him  belonged 
to  the  commander-in-chief.  They  were  met  in  the  vesti- 
bule by  a  hussar  officer  of  a  most  commanding  appearance. 
Sobieski  and  he  having  accosted  each  other  with  mutual 
congratulations,  the  palatine  turned  to  Thaddeus,  and  pre- 
senting Mm  to  his  friend,  said  with  a  smile: 

"  Here,  my  dear  Kosciusko,  this  young  man  is  my  grand- 
son; he  is  called  Thaddeus  Sobieski,  and  I  t-ast  that  he 
will  not  disgrace  either  of  our  names!" 

Kosciusko  embraced  the  young  count,  and  with  a  hearty 
pressure  of  his  hand  replied:  "Thaddeus,  if  you  resemble 
your  grandfather,  you  can  never  forget  that  the  only  king 
of  Poland  who  equaled  our  patriotic  Stanislaus  was  a 
Sobieski;  and  as  becomes  his  descendant,  you  will  not  spare 
your  best  blood  in  the  service  of  your  country."* 

As  Kosciusko  finished  speaking,  an  aid-de-camp  came  for- 
ward to  lead  the  party  into  the  room  of  audience.     Prince 


*  Kosciusko,  noble  of  birth,  and  eminently  brave  in  spirit,  had 
learned  the  practice  of  arms  in  his  early  youth  in  America.  During 
the   contest   between   the    British   colonies   there   ?.Dd   the    mothej 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  25 

Poniatowski  welcomed  the  palatine  and  his  snit  with  the 
most  lively  expressions  of  pleasure.  He  gave  Thaddens, 
whose  figure  and  manner  instantly  charmed  him,  many 
flattering  assurances  of  friendship,  and  promised  that  he 
would  appoint  him  to  the  first  post  of  honor  which  should 
offer.  After  detaining  the  palatine  and  his  grandson  half 
an  hour,  his  highness  withdrew,  and  they  rejoined 
Kosciusko,  who  conducted  them  to  the  quarter  where  the 
Masovian  soldiers  had  already  pitched  their  tents. 

The  officers  who  supped  with  Sobieski  left  him  at  an 
early  hour,  that  he  might  retire  to  rest;  but  Thaddens  was 
neither  able  nor  inclined  to  benefit  by  their  consideration. 
He  lay  down  on  his  mattress,  shut  his  eyes,  and  tried  to 
sleep;  but  the  attempt  was  without  success.  In  vain  he 
turned  from  side  to  side;  in  vain  he  attempted  to  restrict  his 
thoughts  to  one  thing  at  once:  his  imagination  was  so 
roused  by  anticipating  the  scenes  in  which  he  was  to  be- 
come an  actor  that  he  found  it  impossible  even  to  lie  still. 
His  spirits  being  quite  awake,  he  determined  to  rise,  and 
to  walk  himself  drowsy. 

Seeing  his  grandfather  sound  asleep,  he  got  up  and 
dressed  himself  quietly;  then  stealing  gently  from  the 
marquee,  he  gave  the  word  in  a  low  whisper  to  the  guard 
at  the  door,  and  proceeded  down  the  lines.  The  pitying 
moon  seemed  to  stand  in  the  heavens,  watching  the  awak- 
ing of  those  heroes  who  the  next  day  might  sleep  to  rise 
no  more.  Another  time,  and  in  another  mood,  such  might 
have  been  his  reflections;  but  now  he  pursued  his  walk 
with  different  thoughts:  no  meditations  but  those  of 
pleasure  possessed  his  breast.  He  looked  on  the  moon 
with  transport;  he  beheld  the  light  of  that  beautiful  planet, 
trailing  its  long  stream  of  glory  across  the  intrenchments. 
He  perceived  a  solitary  candle  here  and  there  glimmer- 
country,  the  young  Pole,  with  a  few  of  his  early  compeers  in  the 
great  military  college  at  Warsaw,  eager  to  measure  swords  in  an 
actual  field,  had  passed  over  seas  to  British  America,  and  offering 
their  services  to  the  independents,  which  were  accepted,  the  extraor- 
dinary warlike  talents  of  Kosciusko  were  speedily  honored  by  his 
being  made  an  especial  aid-de-camp  to  General  Washington.  When 
the  war  ended,  in  the  peace  of  mutual  concessions  between  the 
national  parent  and  its  children  on  a  distant  land,  the  Poles  returned 
to  their  native  country,  where  they  soon  met  circumstances  which 
caused  them  to  redraw  their  swords  for  her.  But  to  what  issue,  was 
yet  behind  the  floating  colore  of  a  soldier's  hope. 


26  THADDfiUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

ing  through  the  curtained  entrance  of  the  tents,  and 
thought  that  their  inmates  were  probably  longing  with  the 
same  anxiety  as  himself  for  the  morning's  dawn. 

Thaddeus  Avalked  slowly  on,  sometimes  pausing  at  the 
lonely  footfall  of  the  sentinel,  or  answering  Avith  a  start  to 
the  sudden  challenge  for  the  parole;  then  lingering  at  the 
door  of  some  of  these  canvas  dwellings,  he  offered  up  a 
prayer  for  the  brave  inhabitant  who,  like  himself,  had 
quitted  the  endearments  of  home  to  expose  his  life  on  this 
spot,  a  bulwark  of  liberty.  Thaddeus  knew  not  what  it 
was  to  be  a  soldier  by  profession;  he  had  no  idea  of  making- 
war  a  trade,  by  which  a  man  may  acquire  subsistence,  and 
perhaps  wealth;  he  had  but  one  motive  for  appearing  in 
the  field,  and  one  for  leaving  it — to  repel  invasion  and  to 
establish  peace.  The  first  energy  of  his  mind  was  a  desire 
to  maintain  the  rights  of  his  country ;  it  had  been  incul- 
cated into  him  when  an  infant;  it  had*  been  the  subject  of  his 
morning  thoughts  and  nightly  dreams;  it  was  now  the  pas- 
sion which  beat  in  every  artery  of  his  heart.  Yet  he  knew 
no  honor  in  slaughter:  his  glory  lay  in  defense;  and  when 
that  was  accomplished,  his  sword  would  return  to  its  scab- 
bard, unstained  by  the  blood  of  a  vanquished  or  invaded 
people.  On  these  principles,  he  was  at  this  hour  full  of 
enthusiasm;  a  glow  of  triumph  flitted  over  his  cheek,  for 
he  had  felt  the  indulgences  of  his  mother's  palace,  had  left 
her  maternal  arms,  to  take  upon  him  the  toils  of  war,  and 
risk  an  existence  just  blown  into  enjoyment.  A  noble 
satisfaction  rose  in  his  mind;  and  with  all  the  animation 
which  an  inexperienced  and  raised  fancy  imparts  to  that 
age  when  boyhood  breaks  into  man,  his  soul  grasped  at 
every  show  of  creation  with  the  confidence  of  belief. 
Pressing  the  saber  which  he  held  in  his  hand  to  his  lips, 
he  half-uttered,  "Never  shall  this  sword  leave  my  arm  but 
at  the  command  of  mercy,  or  when  death  deprives  my 
nerves  of  their  strength." 

Morning  was  tingeing  the  hills  which  bound  the  eastern 
horizon  of  Winnica  before  Thaddeus  found  that  his  pelisse 
was  wet  with  dew,  and  that  he  ought  to  return  to  his  tent. 
Hardly  had  he  laid  his  head  upon  the  pillow,  and  "lulled 
his  senses  in  forgetfulness."  when  he  was  disturbed  by  the 
drum  beating  to  arms.  He  opened  his  eyes,  and  seeing 
the  palatine  out  of  bed,  he  sprang  from  his  own,  and 
eagerly  inquired  the  cause  of  his  alarm. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  27 

"Only  follow  me  directly,"  answered  his  grandfather, 
and  quitted  the  tent. 

While  Thaddeus  was  putting  on  his  clothes,  and  buc- 
kling  on  his  arms  with  a  trembling  eagerness  which  almost 
defeated  his  haste,  an  aid-de-camp  of  the  prince  entered. 
He  brought  information  that  an  advanced  guard  of  the 
Russians  had  attacked  a  Polish  outpost,  under  the  com- 
mand of  Colonel  Lonza,  and  that  his  highness  had  ordered 
a  detachment  from  the  palatine's  brigade  to  march  to  its 
relief.  Before  Thaddeus  could  reply,  Sobieski  sent  to  ap- 
prise his  grandson  that  the  prince  had  appointed  him  to 
accompany  the  troops  which  were  turning  out  to  resist  the 
enemy. 

Thaddeus  heard  this  message  with  delight;  yet  fearful 
in  what  manner  the  event  might  answer  the  expectations 
which  this  wished  distinction  declared,  he  issued  from  In- 
tent like  a  youthful  Mars— or  rather  like  the  Spartan 
Isadas— trembling  at  the  dazzling  effects  of  his  temerity, 
and  hiding  his  valor  and  his  blushes  beneath  the  waving 
plumes  of  his  helmet.  Kosciusko,  who  was  to  head  the 
party,  observed  this  modesty  with  pleasure,  and  shaking 
him'warmly  by  the  hand,  said,  "Go,  Thaddeus;  take  your 
station  on  the' left  flank;  I  shall  require  your  fresh  spirits 
to  lead  the  charge  I  intend  to  make,  and  to  insure  its  suc- 
cess." Thaddeus  bowed  to  these  encouraging  words,  and 
took  his  place  according  to  order. 

Everything  being  ready,  the  detachment  quitted  the 
camp,  and  dashing  through  the  dews  of  a  sweet  morning 
(for  it  was  yet  May),  in  a  few  hours  arrived  in  view  of  the 
Russian  battalions.  Lonza,  who,  from  the  only  redoubt 
now  in  his  possession,  caught  a  glimpse  of  this  welcome 
reenforcement,  rallied  his  few  remaining  men,  and  by  the 
time  that  Kosciusko  came  up,  contrived  to  join  him  in  the 
van.  The  fight  recommenced.  Thaddeus,  at  the  head  of 
his  hussars,  in  full  gallop  bore  down  upon  the  enemy's 
right  flank.  They  received  the  charge  with  firmness;  but 
their  young  adversary,  perceiving  that  extraordinary  means 
were  necessary  to  make  the  desired  effect,  calling  on  his 
men  to  follow  him,  put  spurs  to  his  horse  and  rushed  into 
the  thickest  of  the  battle.  His  soldiers  did  not  shrink; 
they  pressed  on,  mowing  down  the  foremost  ranks,  while 
he,  by  a  lucky  stroke  of  his  saber,  disabled  the  sword-arm 
of  the  Russian  standard-bearer  and  seized  the  colors.     His 


28  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

own  troops  seeing  the  standard  in  his  hand,  with  one  ac- 
cord, in  loud  and  repeated  cries,  shouted  victory.  Part  of 
the  reserve  of  the  enemy,  alarmed  at  this  outcry,  gave 
ground,  and  retreating  with  precipitation,  was  soon  fol- 
lowed by  some  of  the  rear  ranks  of  the  center,  to  which 
Kosciusko  had  penetrated,  while  its  commander,  after  a 
short  but  desperate  resistance,  was  slain.  The  left  flank 
next  gave  way,  and  though  holding  a  brave  stand  at  inter- 
vals, at  length  fairly  turned  about  and  fled  across  the 
country. 

The  conquerors,  elated  with  so  sudden  a  success,  put 
their  horses  on  full  speed,  and  without  order  or  attention 
pursued  the  fugitives  until  they  were  lost  amid  the  trees 
of  a  distant  wood.  Kosciusko  called  on  his  men  to  halt, 
but  he  called  in  vain;  they  continued  their  career,  animat- 
ing each  other,  and  with  redoubled  shouts  drowned  the 
voice  of  Thaddeus,  who  was  galloping  forward  repeating 
the  command.  At  the  entrance  of  the  wood  they  were 
stopped  by  a  few  Russian  stragglers,  who  had  formed  them- 
selves into  a  body.  These  men  withstood  the  first  onset  of 
the  Poles  with  considerable  steadiness;  but  after  a  short 
skirmish  they  fled,  or,  perhaps,  seemed  to  fly,  a  second 
time,  and  took  refuge  in  the  bushes,  where,  still  regardless 
of  orders,  their  enemies  followed.  Kosciusko,  foreseeing 
the  consequence  of  this  rashness,  ordered  Thaddeus  to  dis- 
mount a  part  of  his  squadron,  and  march  after  these  head- 
strong men  into  the  forest.  He  came  up  with  them  on  the 
edge  of  a  heathy  tract  of  land,  just  as  they  were  closing  in 
with  a  band  of  the  enemy's  arquebusiers,  who,  having  kejat 
up  a  quick  running  fire  as  they  retreated,  had  drawn  their 
pursuers  thus  far  into  the  thickets.  Heedless  of  anything 
but  giving  their  enemy  a  complete  defeat,  the  Polanders 
went  on,  never  looking  to  the  left  nor  to  the  right,  till  at 
once  they  found  themselves  encompassed  by  two  thousand 
Muscovite  horse,  several  battalions  of  chasseurs,  and  in 
front  of  fourteen  pieces  of  cannon,  which  this  dreadful 
ambuscade  opened  upon  them. 

Thaddeus  threw  himself  into  the  midst  of  his  country- 
men, and  taking  the  place  of  their  unfortunate  conductor, 
who  had  been  killed  in  the  first  sweep  of  the  artillery,  pre- 
pared the  men  for  a  desperate  stand.  He  gave  his  orders 
with  intrepid  coolness — though  under  a  shower  of  musketry 
and  a  cannonade  which  carried  death  in  every  round — that 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  29 

they  should  draw  off  toward  the  flank  of  the  battery.  He 
thought  not  of  himself;  and  in  a  few  minutes  the  scattered 
soldiers  were  consolidated  into  a  close  body,  squared  with 
pikemen,  who  stood  like  a  grove  of  pines  in  a  day  of  tem- 
pest, only  moving  their  heads  and  arms.  Many  of  the 
Russian  horse  impaled  themselves  on  the  sides  of  this  little 
phalanx,  which  they  vainly  attempted  to  shake,  although 
the  ordnance  was  rapidly  weakening  its  strength.  File 
after  file  the  men  were  swept  down,  their  bodies  making  a 
horrid  rampart  for  their  resolute  brothers  in  arms,  who, 
however,  rendered  desperate,  at  last  threw  away  their  most 
cumbrous  accouterments,  and  crying  to  their  leader, 
"  Freedom  or  death!"  followed  him  sword  in  hand,  and 
bearing  like  a  torrent  upon  the  enemy's  ranks,  cut  their 
way  through  the  forest.  The  Russians,  exasperated  that 
their  prey  should  not  only  escape,  but  escape  by  such 
dauntless  valor,  hung  closely  on  their  rear,  goading  them 
with  musketry,  while  they  (like  a  wounded  lion  closely 
pressed  by  the  hunters  retreats,  yet  stands  proudly  at  bay) 
gradually  retired  toward  the  camp  with  a  backward  step, 
their  faces  toward  the  foe. 

Meanwhile  the  palatine  Sobieski,  anxious  for  the  fate  of 
the  day,  mounted  the  dyke,  and  looked  eagerly  around  for 
the  arrival  of  some  messenger  from  the  little  army.  As  the 
wind  blew  strongly  from  the  south,  a  cloud  of  dust  pre- 
cluded his  view;  but  from  the  approach  of  firing  and  the 
clash  of  arms,  he  was  led  to  fear  that  his  friends  had  been 
defeated,  and  were  retreating  toward  the  camp.  He  in- 
stantly quitted  the  lines  to  call  out  a  reenforcement;  but 
before  he  could  advance,  Kosciusko  and  his  squadron  on 
the  full  charge  appeared  in  flank  of  the  enemy,  who  sud- 
denly halted,  and  wheeling  round,  left  the  harassed  Poland- 
ers  to  enter  the  trenches  unmolested. 

Thaddeus,  covered  with  dust  and  blood,  flung  himself 
Into  his  grandfather's  arms.  In  the  heat  of  action  his  left 
arm  had  been  wounded  by  a  Cossack.*     Aware  that  neglect 


*  Cossacks.  There  are  two  descriptions  of  these  formidable 
auxiliaries:  those  of  clear  Tartar  race,  the  other  mixed  with  Musco- 
vites and  their  tributaries.  The  first  aud  the  fiercest  are  called  Don 
Cossacks,  because  of  their  inhabiting  the  immense  steppes  of  the  Don 
River,  on  the  frontiers  of  Asia.  They  are  governed  by  a  hetman,  a 
native  ahief,  who  personally  leads  them  to  battle.  The  second  are 
the  Cossacks  of  the  Crimea,  a  gallant  people  of  that  finest  part  of  the 


30  TBADDEUS  OF  WABSA  W. 

then  might  disable  him  from  further  service,  at  the  mo. 
ment  it  happened  he  bound  it  up  in  his  sash,  and  had 
thought  no  more  of  the  accident  until  the  palatine  re- 
marked blood  on  his  cloak. 

"  My  injury  is  slight,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he.  "I  wish  to 
Heaven  that  it  were  all  the  evil  which  has  befallen  us  to- 
day!    Look  at  the  remnant  of  our  brave  comrades." 

Sobieski  turned  his  eyes  on  the  panting  soldiers,  and  on 
Kosciusko,  who  was  inspecting  them.  Some  of  them,  no 
longer  upheld  by  desperation,  were  sinking  with  wounds 
and  fatigue;  these  the  good  general  sent  off  in  litters  to  the 
medical  department;  and  others,  who  had  sustained  un- 
harmed the  conflict  of  the  day,  after  having  received  the 
praise  and  admonition  of  their  commander,  were  dismissed 
to  their  quarters. 

Before  this  inspection  was  over,  the  palatine  had  to  as- 
sist Thaddeus  to  his  tent;  in  spite  of  his  exertions  to  the 
contrary,  he  became  so  faint  it  was  necessary  to  lead  him 
off  the  ground. 

A  short  time  restored  him.  With  his  arm  in  a  sling,  he 
joined  his  brother  officers  on  the  fourth  day.  After  the 
duty  of  the  morning,  he  heard  with  concern  that,  during 
his  confinement,  the  enemy  had  augmented  their  force  to 
so  tremendous  a  strength,  it  was  impossible  for  the  com- 
paratively slender  force  of  the  Poles  to  remain  longer  at 
Winnica.  In  consequence  of  this  report,  the  prince  had 
convened  a  council  late  the  preceding  night,  in  which  it 
was  determined  that  the  camp  should  immediately  be 
razed,  and  removed  toward  Zielime. 

This  information  displeased  Thaddeus,  who  in  his  fairy 
dreams  of  Avar  had  always  made  conquest  the  sure  end  of 
his  battles;  and  many  were  the  sighs  he  drew  when,  at  an 
hour  before  dawn  on  the  following  day,  he  witnessed  the 
striking  of  the  tents,  which  he  thought  too  like  a  prelude 
to  a  shameful  flight  from  the  enemy.  While  he  was  stand- 
ing by  the  busy  people,  and  musing  on  the  nice  line  which 
divides  prudence  from  pusillanimity,  his  grandfather  came 
up,  and  bade  him  mount  his  horse,  telling  him  that,  owing 

Russian  dominions,  and,  by  being  of  a  mingled  origin,  under 
European  rule,  are  more  civilized  and  better  disciplined  than  their 
brethren  near  the  Caucasus.  They  are  generally  commanded  by 
Russian  officers. 


THADDEUS  OF  WAR8A  W.  31 

to  the  unhealed  state  of  his  wound,  he  was  removed  from 
the  vanguard,  and  ordered  to  march  in  the  center,  along 
with  the  prince.  Thaddeus  remonstrated  against  this  ar- 
rangement, and  almost  reproached  the  palatine  for  forfeit- 
ing  his  promise,  that  he  should  always  be  stationed  near 
his  person.  The  veteran  would  not  be  moved,  either  by 
argument  or  entreaty;  and  Thaddeus,  finding  that  he 
neither  could  nor  ought  to  oppose  him,  obeyed,  and  fol- 
lowed an  aid-de-camp  to  his  highness. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE   FASS   OF  VOLUNKA, 

After  a  march  of  three  hours,  the  army  came  in  sight  of 
Volunna,  where  the  advanced  column  suddenly  halted. 
Thaddeus,  who  was  about  a  half-mile  to  its  rear,  with  a 
throbbing  heart  heard  that  a  momentous  pass  must  be  dis- 
puted before  they  could  proceed.  He  curbed  his  horse, 
then  gave  it  the  spur,  so  eagerly  did  he  wish  to  penetrate 
the  cloud  of  smoke  which  rose  in  volumes  from  the  dis- 
charge of  musketry,  on  whose  wing,  at  every  round,  he 
dreaded  might  be  carried  the  fate  of  his  grandfather.  At 
last  the  firing  ceased,  and  the  troops  were  commanded  to 
go  forward.  On  approaching  near  the  contested  defile, 
Thaddeus  shuddered,  for  at  every  step  the  heels  of  his 
charger  struck  upon  the  wounded  or  the  dead.  There  lay 
his  enemies,  here  lay  his  friends!  His  respiration  was 
nearly  suspended,  and  his  eyes  clung  to  the  ground,  ex- 
pecting at  each  moment  to  fasten  on  the  breathless  body  of 
his  grandfather. 

Again  the  tumult  of  battle  presented  itself.  About  a 
hundred  soldiers,  in  one  firm  rank,  stood  at  the  opening  of 
the  pass,  firing  on  the  now  vacillating  steadiness  of  the 
enemy.  Thaddeus  checked  his  horse.  Five  hundred  had 
been  detached  to  this  post;  how  few  remained!  Could  he 
hope  that  Sobieski  had  escaped  so  desperate  a  rencontre? 
Fearing  the  worst,  and  dreading  to  have  those  fears  con- 
firmed, his  heart  sickened  when  he  received  orders  from 
Poniatowski  to  examine  the  extent  of  the  loss,  lie  rode  to 
the  mouth  of  the  defile.     He  could  nowhere  see  the  pala- 


32  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

tine.  A  few  of  his  hussars,  a  little  in  advance,  were 
engaged  over  a  heap  of  the  killed,  defending  it  from  a 
troop  of  Cossacks,  who  appeared  fighting  for  the  barbarous 
privilege  of  trampling  on  the  bodies.  At  this  sight  Thad- 
dens,  impelled  by  despair,  called  out,  "  Courage,  soldiers! 
The  prince  with  artillery!"  The  enemy,  looking  forward, 
saw  the  information  was  true,  and  with  a  shout  of  derision, 
took  to  flight.  Poniatowski,  almost  at  the  word,  was  by 
the  side  of  his  young  friend,  who,  unconscious  of  any  idea 
but  that  of  filial  solicitude,  had  dismounted. 

"  Where  is  the  palatine?"  was  his  immediate  inquiry  to 
a  chasseur  who  was  stooping  toward  the  slain.  The  man 
made  no  answer,  but  lifted  from  the  heap  the  bodies  of  two 
soldiers;  beneath  Thaddeus  saw  the  pale  and  deathly  fea- 
tures of  his  grandfather.  He  staggered  a  few  paces  back, 
and  the  prince,  thinking  he  was  falling,  hastened  to  sup- 
port him;  but  he  recovered  himself,  and  flew  forward  to 
assist  Kosciusko,  who  had  raised  the  head  of  the  palatine 
upon  his  knee. 

"Is  he  alive?"  inquired  Thaddeus. 

"  He  breathes." 

Hope  was  now  warm  in  his  grandson's  breast.  The  sol- 
diers soon  released  Sobieski  from  the  surrounding  dead; 
but  his  swoon  continuing,  the  prince  desired  that  he  might 
be  laid  on  a  bank,  until  a  litter  could  be  brought  from  the 
rear  to  convey  him  to  a  place  of  security.  Meantime, 
Thaddeus  and  General  Butzou  bound  up  his  wounds  and 
poured  some  water  into  his  mouth.  The  effusion  of  blood 
being  stopped,  the  brave  veteran  opened  his  eyes,  and  in  a 
few  moments  more,  while  he  leaned  on  the  bosom  of  his 
grandson,  was  so  far  restored  as  to  receive  with  his  usual 
modest  dignity  the  thanks  of  his  highness  for  the  intrepid- 
ity with  which  he  had  preserved  a  passage  which  insured 
the  safety  of  the  whole  army. 

Two  surgeons,  who  arrived  with  the  litter,  relieved  the 
anxiety  of  the  bystanders  by  an  assurance  that  the  wounds, 
which  they  reexamined,  were  not  dangerous.  Having  laid 
their  patient  on  the  vehicle,  they  were  preparing  to  retire 
with  it  into  the  rear,  when  Thaddeus  petitioned  the  prince 
to  grant  him  permission  to  take  the  command  of  the  guard 
which  was  appointed  to  attend  his  grandfather.  His  high- 
ness consented,  but  Sobieski  positively  refused. 

"  No,  Thaddeus,"  said  he;  "  you  forget  the  effect  which 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  33 

this  solicitude  about  so  trifling  a  matter  might  have  on  the 
men.  Remember  that  he  who  goes  into  battle  only  puts 
his  own  life  to  the  hazard,  but  he  that  abandons  the  field 
sports  with  the  lives  of  his  soldiers.  Do  not  give  them 
ieave  to  suppose  that  even  your  dearest  interest  could  tempt 
you  from  the  front  of  danger  when  it  is  your  duty  to  remain 
there."  Thaddeus  obeyed  his  grandfather  in  respectful 
silence;  at  seven  o'clock  the  army  resumed  its  march. 

Near  Zielime  the  prince  was  saluted  by  a  reenforcement. 
It  appeared  very  seasonably,  for  scouts  had  brought  infor- 
mation that  directly  across  the  plain  a  formidable  division 
of  the  Russian  army,  under  General  Brinicki,  was  drawn 
up  in  order  of  battle,  to  dispute  his  progress. 

Thaddeus,  for  the  first  time,  shuddered  at  the  sight  of 
the  enemy.  Should  his  friends  be  defeated,  what  might 
be  the  fate  of  his  grandfather,  now  rendered  helpless  by 
many  wounds!  Occupied  by  these  fears,  with  anxiety  in 
his  heart,  he  kept  his  place  at  the  head  of  the  light  horse, 
close  to  the  hill. 

Prince  Poniatowski  ordered  the  lines  to  extend  them- 
selves, that  the  right  should  reach  to  the  river,  and  the  left 
be  covered  by  the  rising  ground,  on  which  were  mounted 
seven  pieces  of  ordnance.  Immediately  after  these  dispo- 
sitions the  battle  commenced  with  mutual  determination, 
and  continued  with  unabated  fury  from  eight  in  the  morn- 
ing until  sunset.  Several  times  the  Poles  were  driven  from 
their  ground;  but  as  often  recovering  themselves,  and  ani- 
mated by  their  commanders,  they  prosecuted  the  fight  with 
advantage.  General  Brinicki,  perceiving  that  the  fortune 
of  the  day  was  going  against  him,  ordered  up  the  body  of 
reserve,  which  consisted  of  four  thousand  men  and  several 
cannon.  He  erected  temporary  batteries  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  with  these  new  forces  opened  a  rapid  and  destructive 
fire  on  the  Polanders.  Kosciusko,  alarmed  at  perceiving 
retrograde  motion  in  his  troops,  gave  orders  for  a  close  at- 
tack on  the  enemy  in  front,  while  Thaddeus,  at  the  head  of 
his  hussars,  should  wheel  round  the  hill  of  artillery,  and 
with  loud  cries  charge  the  opposite  flank.  This  stratagem 
succeeded.  The  arqnebusiers,  who  were  posted  on  that 
spot,  seeing  the  impetuosity  of  the  Poles,  and  the  quarter 
whence  they  came,  supposed  them  to  be  a  fresh  squadron, 
gave  ground,  and  opening  in  all  directions,  threw  their 
own  people   into  a  confusion  that  completed   the  defeat. 


3H  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Kosciusko  and  the  prince  were  equally  successful,  and  a 
general  panic  among  their  adversaries  was  the  consequence. 
The  whole  of  the  Russian  army  now  took  to  flight,  except 
a  few  regiments  of  carabineers,  which  were  entangled  be- 
tween the  river  and  the  Poles.  These  were  immediately 
surrounded  by  a  battalion  of  Masovian  infantry,  who,  en- 
raged at  the  loss  their  body  had  sustained  the  preceding 
day,  answered  a  cry  for  quarter  with  reproach  and  derision. 
At  this  instant  the  Sobieski  squadron  came  up,  and  Thad- 
deus,  who  saw  the  perilous  situation  of  these  regiments, 
ordered  the  slaughter  to  cease,  and  the  men  to  be  taken 
prisoners.  The  Maaovians  exhibited  strong  signs  of  dissat- 
isfaction at  such  commands;  but  the  young  count  charging 
through  them,  ranged  his  troops  before  the  Russians,  and 
declared  that  the  first  man  who  should  dare  to  lift  a  sword 
against  his  orders  should  be  shot.  The  Poles  dropped  their 
arms.  The  poor  carabineers  fell  on  their  knees  to  thank 
his  mercy,  while  their  officers,  in  a  sullen  silence  which 
seemed  ashamed  of  gratitude,  surrendered  their  swords 
into  the  hands  of  their  deliverers. 

During  this  scene,  only  one  very  young  Russian  ap- 
peared wholly  refractory.  He  held  his  sword  in  a  menac- 
ing posture  when  Thaddeus  drew  near,  and  before  he  had 
time  to  speak,  the  young  man  made  a  cut  at  his  head, 
which  a  hussar  parried  by  striking  the  assailant  to  the 
earth,  and  would  have  killed  him  on  the  spot  had  not 
Thaddeus  caught  the  blow  on  his  own  sword;  then  instant- 
ly dismounting,  he  raised  the  officer  from  the  ground,  and 
apologized  for  the  too  hasty  zeal  of  his  soldier.  The  youth 
blushed,  and,  bowing,  presented  his  sword,  which  was  re- 
ceived and  as  directly  returned. 

"Brave  sir,"  said  Thaddeus,  "I  consider  myself  en- 
nobled in  restoring  this  weapon  to  him  who  has  so  coura- 
geously defended  it." 

The  Russian  made  no  reply  but  by  a  second  bow,  and  put 
his  hand  on  his  breast,  which  seemed  wet  with  blood. 
Ceremony  was  now  at  an  end.  Thaddeus  never  looked 
upon  the  unfortunate  as  strangers,  much  less  as  enemies. 
Accosting  the  wounded  officer  with  a  friendly  voice,  he  as- 
sured him  of  his  services,  and  bade  him  lean  on  him. 
Overcome,  the  young  man,  incapable  of  speaking,  accepted 
his  assistance;  but  before  a  conveyance  could  arrive,  for 
which  two  mea  were  dispatched,  he  fainted  in  his  arms. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  35 

Thaddeus  being  obliged  to  join  the  prince  with  his  prisoners, 
unwillingly  left  the  young  Russian  in  this  situation;  but  be- 
fore he  did  so  he  directed  one  of  his  lieutenants  to  take 
care  that  the  surgeons  should  pay  attention  to  the  officer, 
and  have  his  litter  carried  next  to  the  palatine's  during  the 
remainder  of  the  march. 

When  the  army  halted  at  nine  o'clock  p.m.,  preparations 
were  made  to  fiVthe  camp;  and  in  case  of  a  surprise  from 
any  part  of  the  dispersed  enemy  which  might  have  rallied, 
orders  were  delivered  for  throwing  up  a  dyke.     Thaddeus, 
having  been  assured  that  his  grandfather  and  the  wounded 
Eussian  were  comfortably  stationed  near  each  other,  did 
not  hesitate  to  accept  the  command  of   the  intrenching 
party.     To   that   end   he  wrapped  himself  loosely  in  his 
pelisse,  and   prepared  for  a  long  watch.     The  night  was 
beautiful.     It  being  the  month  of  June,  a  softening  warmth 
still  floated  through  the  air,  as  if  the  moon,  which  shone 
over  his  head,  emitted  heat  as  well  as  splendor.     His  mind 
was  in  unison  with  the  season.     He  rode  slowly  round  from 
bank  to  bank,  sometimes  speaking  to  the  workers  in  the 
fosse,  sometimes  lingering  for  a  few  minutes.     Looking  on 
the  ground,  he  thought  on  the  element  of  which  he  was 
composed,  to  which  he  might  so  soon  return;  then  gazing 
upward,  he  observed  the  silent  march  of   the  stars  and  the 
moving  scene  of  the  heavens.     On  whatever  object  he  cast 
his  eyes,  his  soul,  which  the  recent  events  had  dissolved 
into  a  temper  not  the  less  delightful  for  being  tinged  with 
melancholy,  meditated  with  intense  compassion,  and  dwelt 
with  wonder  on  the  mind  of  man,  which,  while  it  adores 
the  Creator  of  the  universe,  and  measures  the  immensity 
of  space  with  an  expansion  of  intellect  almost  divine,  can 
devote  itself  to  the  narrow  limits  of  sublunary  possessions, 
and  exchange  the  boundless  paradise  above  for  the  low  en- 
joyments of  human  pride.     He  looked  with  pity  over  that 
wide  tract  of  land  which  now  lay  between  him  and  the 
remains  of  those  four  thousand  invaders  who  had  just  fallen 
victims  to  the  insatiate  desires  of  ambition.     He  well  knew 
the  difference  between  a  defender  of  his  own  country  and 
the  invader  of  another's.     His  heart  beat,  his  soul   ex- 
panded, at  the  prospect  of  securing  liberty  and  life  to  a 
virtuous  people.     He  felt  all  the   happiness  of  such  an 
achievement,  while  he  could  only  imagine  how  that  spirit 
must  shrink  from  reflection  which  animates  the  self-con- 


36  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

demned  slave  to  fight,  not  merely  to  fasten  chains  ou 
others,  but  to  rivet  his  own  the  closer.  The  best  affections 
of  man  having  put  the  sword  into  the  hand  of  Thaddeus, 
his  principle  as  a  Christian  did  not  remonstrate  against  his 
passion  for  arms. 

When  he  was  told  the  fortifications  were  finished,  he 
retired  with  a  tranquil  step  toward  the  Masovian  quarters, 
lie  found  the  palatine  awake,  and  eager  to  welcome  him 
with  the  joyful  information  that  his  wounds  were  so  slight 
as  to  promise  a  speedy  amendment.  Thaddeus  asked  for 
his  prisoner.  The  palatine  answered  that  he  was  in  the 
next  tent,  where  a  surgeon  closely  attended  him,  who  had 
already  given  a  very  favorable  opinion  of  the  wound,  which 
was  in  the  muscles  of  the  breast. 

"  Have  you  seen  him,  my  dear  sir?"  inquired  Thaddeus. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  palatine;  "  I  was  supported  into  his 
marquee  before  I  retired  to  my  own.  I  told  him  who  I 
was,  and  repeated  your  offers  of  service.  He  received  my 
proffer  with  expressions  of  gratitude,  and  at  the  same  time 
declared  he  had  nothing  to  blame  but  his  own  folly  for 
bringing  him  to  the  state  in  which  he  now  lies." 

"  How,  my  lord?"  rejoined  Thaddeus.  "  Does  he  repent 
of  being  a  soldier,  or  is  he  ashamed  of  the  cause  for  which 
he  fought?" 

"Both,  Thaddeus;  he  is  not  a  Muscovite,  but  a  young 
Englishman." 

"An  Englishman!  and  raise  his  arm  against  a  country 
struggling  for  loyalty  and  liberty!" 

"It  is  very  true,"  returned  the  palatine;  "but  as  he 
confesses  it  was  his  folly  and  the  persuasions  of  others 
which  impelled  him,  he  may  be  pardoned.  He  is  a  mere 
youth;  I  think  hardly  your  age.  I  understand  that  he  is 
of  rank;  and  having  undertaken  a  tour  in  whatever  part  of 
Europe  is  now  open  to  travelers,  under  the  direction  of  an 
experienced  tutor,  they  took  Russia  in  their  route.  At 
St.  Petersburg  he  became  intimate  with  many  of  the  no- 
bility, particularly  with  Count  Brinicki,  at  whose  house  he 
resided;  and  when  the  count  was  named  to  the  command 
of  the  army  in  Poland,  Mr.  Somerset  (for  that  is  your 
prisoner^  name),  instigated  by  his  own  volatility  and  the 
arguments  of  his  host,  volunteered  with  him,  and  so  fol- 
lowed his  friend  to  oppose  that  freedom  here  which  he 
would  have  asserted  in  his  own  nation." 


THADDEUS  OP  WARSAW.  37 

Thaddeus  thanked  his  grandfather  for  this  information, 
and  pleased  that  the  young  man,  who  had  so  much  inter- 
ested him,  was  a  brave  Briton,  not  in  heart  an  enemy,  he 
gayly  and  instantly  repaired  to  his  tent. 

A  generous  spirit  is  as  eloquent  in  acknowledging  bene- 
fits as  it  is  bounteous  in  bestowing  them;  and  Mr.  Somerset 
received  his  preserver  with  the  warmest  demonstrations  of 
gratitude.  Thaddeus  begged  him  not  to  consider  himself 
as  particularly  obliged  by  a  conduct  which  every  soldier  of 
honor  has  a  right  to  expect  from  another.  The  Engl  oil- 
man bowed  his  head,  ;Mid  Thaddeus  took  a  seat  by  his 
bedside. 

While  he  gathered  from  his  own  lips  a  corroboration  of 
the  narrative  of  the  palatine,  he  could  not  forbear  inquir- 
ing how  a  person  of  his  apparent  candor,  and  who  was  also 
the  native  of  a  soil  where  national  liberty  had  so  long  been 
the  palladium  of  its  happiness,  could  volunteer  in  a  cause 
the  object  of  which  was  to  make  a  brave  people  slaves. 

Somerset  listened  to  these  questions  with  blushes;  and 
they  did  not  leave  his  face  when  he  confessed  that  all  he 
could  say  in  extenuation  of  what  he  had  done  was  to  plead 
his  youth,  and  having  thought  little  on  the  subject. 

"I  was  wrought  upon,"  continued  he,  "by  a  variety  of 
circumstances:  first,  the  predilections  of  Mr.  Loftus,  my 
governor,  are  strongly  in  favor  of  the  court  of  St.  Peters- 
burg; secondly,  my  father  dislikes  the  army,  and  I  am 
enthusiastically  fond  of  it — this  was  the  only  opportunity, 
perhaps,  in  which  I  might  ever  satisfy  my  passion;  and 
lastly,  I  believe  that  I  was  dazzled  by  the  picture  which 
the  young  men  about  me  drew  of  the  campaign.  I  longed 
to  be  a  soldier;  they  persuaded  me;  and  I  followed  them 
tothefield  as  I  would  have  done  to  a  ball-room,  heedless  of 
the  consequences." 

"  Yet,"  replied  Thaddeus,  smiling,  "  from  the  intrepid- 
ity with  which  you  maintained  your  ground,  when  your 
arms  were  demanded,  any  one  might  have  thought  that 
your  whole  soul,  as  well  as  your  body,  was  engaged  in  the 
cause." 

"To  be  sure,"  returned  Somerset,  "I  was  a  blockhead  to 
be  there;  but  when  there,  I  should  have  despised  myself 
forever  had  I  given  up  my  honor  to  the  ruffians  who  would 
have  wrested  my  sword  from  me!  But  when  you  came, 
noble  Sobieski,  it  was  the  fate  of  war,  and  I  confided  my- 
self to  a  brave  man." 


3S  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

CHAPTER  V. 

THE   BANKS  OF   THE  VISTULA. 

Each  succeeding  morning  not  only  brought  fresh  symp 
toms  of  recovery  to  the  two  invalids,  but  condensed  the 
mutual  admiration  of  the  young  men  into  a  solid  and  ardent 
esteem. 

It  is  not  the  disposition  of  youthful  minds  to  weigh  for 
months  and  years  the  sterling  value  of  those  qualities  which 
attract  them.  As  soon  as  they  see  virtue,  they  respect  it;  as 
soou  as  they  meet  kindness,  they  believe  it;  and  as  soon  as  a 
union  of  both  presents  itself,  they  love  it.  Not  having 
passed  through  the  disappointments  of  a  delusive  world, 
they  grasp  for  reality  every  pageant  which  appears.  They 
have  not  yet  admitted  that  cruel  doctrine  which,  when  it 
takes  effect,  creates  and  extends  the  misery  it  affects  to 
cure.  While  we  give  up  our  souls  to  suspicion,  we  grad- 
ually learn  to  deceive;  while  we  repress  the  fervors  of 
our  own  hearts,  we  freeze  those  which  approach  us;  while 
we  cautiously  avoid  occasions  of  receiving  pain,  at  every 
remove  we  acquire  an  unconscious  influence  to  inflict  it 
on  those  who  follow  us.  They,  again,  meet  from  our  con- 
duct and  lips  the  lesson  that  destroys  the  expanding  sen- 
sibilities of  their  nature;  and  thus  the  tormenting  chain 
of  deceived  and  deceiving  characters  may  be  lengthened 
to  infinitude. 

About  the  latter  end  of  the  month,  Sobieski  received  a 
summons  to  court,  where  a  diet  was  to  be  held  on  the 
effect  of  the  victory  at  Zielime,  to  consider  of  future  pro- 
ceedings. In  the  same  packet  his  majesty  inclosed  a  col- 
lar and  investiture  of  the  order  of  St.  Stanislaus,  as  an 
acknowledgment  of  service  to  the  young  Thaddeus;  and 
he  accompanied  it  with  a  note  from  himself,  expressing 
his  commands  that  the  young  knight  should  return  with 
the  palatine  and  other  generals,  to  receive  thanks  from 
the  throne. 

Thaddeus,  half-wild  with  delight  at  the  thoughts  of 
so  soon  meeting  his  mother,  ran  to  the  tent  of  his  British 
friend  to  communicate  the  tidings.  Somerset  participated 
in  his  pleasure,  and  with  reciprocal  warmth  accepted  the 
invitation  to  accomnanv  him  to  Villanow. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  39 

"I  would  follow  you,  my  friend,"  said  he,  pressing  the 
hand  of  Thaddeus,  "all  over  the  world." 

"Then  I  will  take  you  to  the  most  charming  spot  in  it!" 
cried  he.  "Villanow  is  an  Eden;  and  my  mother,  the 
dear  angel,  would  make  a  desert  so  to  me." 

"You  speak  so  rapturously  of  your  enchanted  castle, 
Thaddeus,"  returned  his  friend,  "I  believe  I  shall  con- 
sider my  knight-errantry,  in  being  fool  enough  to  trust 
myself  amid  a  fray  in  which  I  had  no  business,  as  one  of 
the  wisest  acts  of  my  life!" 

"I  consider  it,"  replied  Thaddeus,  "as  one  of  the  most 
auspicious  events  in  mine." 

Before  the  palatine  quitted  the  camp,  Somerset  thought 
it  proper  to  acquaint  Mr.  Loftus,  who  was  yet  at  St. 
Petersburg,  of  the  particulars  of  his  late  danger,  and  that 
he  was  going  to  Warsaw  with  his  new  friends,  where  he 
should  remain  for  several  weeks.  He  added,  that  as  the 
court  of  Poland,  through  the  intercession  of  the  palatine, 
had  generously  given  him  his  liberty,  he  should  be  able  to 
see  everything  in  that  country  worthy  of  investigation, 
and  that  he  would  write  to  him  again,  inclosing  letters 
for  England,  soon  after  his  arrival  at  the  Polish  capital. 

The  weather  continuing  fine,  in  a  few  days  the  party 
left  Zielime;  and  the  palatine  and  Somerset,  being  so  far 
restored  from  their  wounds  that  they  could  walk,  the  one 
with  a  crutch  and  the  other  by  the  support  of  his  friend's 
arm,  they  went  through  the  journey  with  animation  and 
pleasure.  The  benign  wisdom  of  Sobieski,  the  intelligent 
enthusiasm  of  Thaddeus,  and  the  playful  vivacity  of 
Somerset,  mingling  their  different  natures,  produced  such 
a  beautiful  union  that  the  minutes  flew  fast  as  their 
wishes.  A  week  more  carried  them  into  the  palatinate  of 
Masovia,  and  soon  afterward  within  the  walls  of  Villanow. 

Everything  that  presented  itself  to  Mr.  Somerset  was 
new  and  fascinating.  He  saw  in  the  domestic  felicity  of 
his  friend  scenes  which  reminded  him  of  the  social  har- 
mony of  his  own  home.  He  beheld  in  the  palace  and 
retinue  of  Sobieski  all  the  magnificence  which  bespoke  the 
descendant  of  a  great  king,  and  a  power  which  wanted 
nothing  of  royal  grandeur  but  the  crown,  which  he  had 
the  magnanimity  to  think  and  to  declare  was  then  placed 
upon  a  more  worthy    brow.     "While   Somerset  venerated 


40  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

this  true  patriot,  the  high  tone  his  mind  acquired  was  not 
lowered  by  associating  with  characters  nearer  the  common 
standard.  The  friends  of  Sobieski  were  men  of  tried 
probity — men  who  at  all  times  preferred  their  country's 
welfare  before  their  own  peculiar  interest.  Mr.  Somerset 
day  after  day  listened  with  deep  attention  to  these  virtuous 
and  energetic  noblemen.  He  saw  them  full  of  fire  and 
personal  courage  when  the  affairs  of  Poland  were  discussed; 
and  he  beheld  with  admiration  their  perfect  f orgetfulness  of 
themselves  in  their  passion  for  the  general  good.  In  these 
moments  his  heart  bowed  down  before  them,  and  all  the 
pride  of  a  Briton  distended  his  breast  when  he  thought 
that  such  men  as  these  his  ancestors  were.  He  remem- 
bered how  often  their  chivalric  virtues  used  to  occupy  his 
reflections  in  the  picture-gallery  at  Somerset  Castle,  and  his 
doubts,  when  he  compared  what  is  with  what  was,  that 
history  had  glossed  over  the  actions  of  past  centuries,  or 
that  a  different  order  of  men  lived  then  from  those  which 
now  inhabit  the  world.  Thus,  studying  the  sublime 
characters  of  Sobieski  and  his  friends,  and  enjoying  the 
endearing  kindness  of  Thaddeus  and  his  mother,  did  a 
fortnight  pass  without  his  even  recollecting  the  promise 
of  writing  to  his  governor.  At  the  end  of  that  period,  he 
stole  an  hour  from  the  countess'  society,  and  inclosed  in 
a  short  letter  to  Mr.  Loftus  the  following  epistle  to  his 
mother: 

"To  Lady  Somerset,  Somerset  Castle,  Leicester- 
shire. 

"Many  weeks  ago,  my  dearest  mother,  I  wrote  a  letter 
of  seven  sheets  from  the  banks  of  the  Neva,  which,  long 
ere  this  time,  you  and  my  dear  father  mnstMiave  received. 
I  attempted  to  give  you  some  idea  of  the  manners  of  Bus- 
sia,  and  my  vanity  whispers  that  I  succeeded  tolerably 
well.  The  court  of  the  famous  Catharine  and  the  atten- 
tions of  the  hospitable  Count  Brinicki  were  then  the  sub- 
jects of  my  pen. 

"But  how  shall  I  account  for  my  being  here?  How 
shall  I  allay  your  surprise  and  displeasure  on  seeing  that 
this  letter  is  dated  from  Warsaw  ?  I  know  that  I  have 
acted  against  the  wish  of  my  father  in  visiting  one  of  the 
countries  he  proscribes.  I  know  that  I  have  disobeyed 
your  commands  in  ever  having  at  any  period  of  my  life 
taken  up  arms  without  an  indispensable  necessity;   and 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  41 

I  have  nothing  to  allege  in  my  defense.  I  fell  in  the 
way  of  temptation,  and  1  yielded  to  it.  1  really  cannot 
enumerate  all  the  things  which  induced  me  to  volunteer 
with  my  Russian  friends;  suffice  it  to  say  that  I  did  so, 
and  that  we  were  defeated  by  the  Poles  at  Zielime:  and 
as  Heaven  has  rather  rewarded  your  prayers  than  punished 
my  imprudence,  I  trust  you  will  do  the  same,  and  pardon 
an  indiscretion  I  vow  never  to  repeat. 

"Notwithstanding  all  this,  I  must  have  lost  my  life 
through  my  folly,,  had  I  not  been  preserved,  even  in  the 
moment  when  death  was  pending  over  me,  by  a  young 
officer  with  whose  family  I  now  am.  The  very  sound  of 
their  title  will  create  your  respect;  for  we  of  the  patrician 
order  have  a  strange  tenacity  in  our  belief  that  virtue  is 
hereditary,  and  in  this  instance  our  creed  is  duly  honored. 
Their  patronymic  is  Sobieski ;  the  family  which  bears  it  is 
the  only  remaining  posterity  of  the  great  monarch  of  that 
name;  and  the  count,  who  is  at  its  head,  is  Palatine  of 
Masovia,  which,  next  to  the  throne,  is  the  first  dignity  in 
the  state.  He  is  one  of  the  warmest  champions  of  his 
country's  rights;  and  though  born  to  command,  has  so 
far  transgressed  the  golden  adage  of  despots,  'Ignorance 
and  subjection,'  that  throughout  his  territories  every  man 
is  taught  to  worship  his  God  with  his  heart  as  well  as  with 
his  knees.  The  understandings  of  his  peasants  are  opened 
to  all  useful  knowledge.  He  does  not  put  books  of  science 
and  speculation  into  their  hands,  to  consume  their  time 
in  vain  pursuits:  he  gives  them  the  Bible,  and  imple- 
ments of  industry,  to  afford  them  the  means  of  knowing 
and  of  practicing  their  duty.  All  Masovia  around  his 
palace  blooms  like  a  garden.  The  cheerful  faces  of  the 
farmers,  and  the  blessings  which  I  hear  them  implore  on 
die  family  when  I  am  walking  in  the  field  with  the  young 
count  (for  in  this  country  the  sons  bear  the  same  title  Avith 
their  fathers*),  have   even   drawn  a  few   delighted  drops 

*  Prince  (ancient  feniaz)  and  boyard  (which  is  equivalent  in  rank 
to  our  old  English  baron)  are  titles  used  by  Russians  and  Polanders, 
both  nations  being  descended  from  the  Sclavonians,  and  their  lan- 
guages derived  from  the  same  roots.  Prince  indicates  the  highest 
rank  of  a  subject;  boj/ard  simply  that  of  nobleman.  But  both 
personages  must  be  understood  to  be  of  hereditary  power  to  raise 
forces  on  their  estates  for  the  service  of  the  sovereign,  to  lead  them 
in  battle,  and  to  maintain  all  their  expenses.     The  title  of  count  has 


42  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

from  the  eyes  of  your  thoughtless  son.  I  know  that  you 
think  I  have  nothing  sentimental  about  me,  else  you 
would  not  so  often  have  poured  into  my  not  inattentive 
ears,  'that  to  estimate  the  pleasures  of  earth  and  heaven, 
we  must  cultivate  the  sensibilities  of  the  heart.  Shut  our 
eyes  against  them,  and  we  are  merely  nicely  constructed 
speculums,  which  reflect  the  beauties  of  nature,  but  enjoy 
none.'  You  see,  mamma,  that  I  both  remember  and 
adopt  your  lessons. 

"Thaddeus  Sobieski  is  the  grandson  of  the  palatine, 
and  the  sole  heir  of  his  illustrious  race.  It  is  to  him  that 
7.  owe  the  preservation  of  my  life  at  Zielime,  and  much  of 
my  happiness  since;  for  he  is  not  only  the  bravest  but  the 
most  amiable  young  man  in  the  kingdom ;  and  he  is  my 
friend!  Indeed,  as  things  have  happened,  you  must  think 
that  out  of  evil  has  come  good.  Though  I  have  been  dis- 
obedient, I  have  repented  my  fault,  and  it  has  introduced 
me  to  the  knowledge  of  a  people  whose  friendship  will 
henceforward  constitute  the  greatest  pleasure  of  my  days. 
The  mother  of  Thaddeus  is  the  only  daughter  of  the 
palatine;  and  of  her  I  can  say  no  more  than  that  nothing 
on  earth  can  more  remind  me  of  you;  she  is  equally 
charming,  equally  tender  to  your  son. 

"While  the  palatine  is  engaged  at  the  diet,  her  excel- 
lency, Thaddeus,  and  myself,  with  now  and  then  a  few 
visitors  from  Warsaw,  form  the  most  agreeable  parties 
you  can  suppose.  We  walk  together,  we  read  together, 
we  converse  together,  we  sing  together — at  least,  the 
countess  sings  to  us,  which  is  all  the  same;  and  yon  know 
that  time  flies  swiftly  on  the  wings  of  harmony.  She  has 
an  uncommonly  sweet  voice,  and  a  taste  which  I  never 
heard  paralleled.  By  the  way,  you  cannot  imagine  any- 
thing more  beautiful  than  the  Polish  music.  It  partakes 
of  that  delicious  languor  so  distinguished  in  the  Turkish 
airs,  with  a  mingling  of  those  Avandering  melodies  which 
the  now  forgotten  composers  must  have  caught  from  the 
Tartars.     In  short,  while  the  countess  is  singing,  I  hardly 

been  adopted  within  a  century  or  two  by  both  nations,  and  occasion- 
ally appended  to  the  ancient  heroic  designation  of  boyard.  The 
feminine  to  these  titles  is  formed  by  adding  gina  to  the  paternal  title; 
thus  Kniazgina  Olgce,  means  Princess  Olga;  also,  boyarda,  lady. 
The  titles  of  palatine,  vaivode,  starost,  and  the  like  belong  to  civil 
and  military  officers. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  43 

suffer  myself  to  breathe;  and  I  feel  just  what  crar  poetical 
friend  William  Scarsdale  said  a  twelvemonth  ago  at  a  con- 
cert of  yours,  'I  feel  as  if  Love  sat  upon  my  heart  and 
flapped  it  with  his  wings.' 

"I  have  tried  all  my  powers  of  persuasion  to  prevail  on 
this  charming  countess  to  visit  our  country.  I  have  over 
and  over  again  told  her  of  you,  and  described  you  to  her; 
that  you  are  near  her  own  age  (for  this  lovely  woman, 
though  she  has  a  son  nearly  twenty,  is  not  more  than 
forty);  that  you  are  as  fond  of  your  ordinary  boy  as  she 
is  of  her  peerless  one;  that,  in  short,  you  and  my  father 
will  receive  her  and  Thaddeus,  and  the  palatine,  with 
open  arms  and  hearts,  if  they  will  condescend  to  visit  our 
humbler  home  at  the  end  of  the  war.  I  believe  I  have 
repeated  my  entreaties,  both  to  the  countess  and  my 
friend,  regularly  every  day  since  my  arrival  at  Villanow, 
but  always  with  the  same  issue:  she  smiles  and  refuses, 
and  Thaddeus  'shakes  his  ambrosial  curls'  with  a  'very 
godlike  frown'  of  denial ;  I  hope  it  is  self-denial,  in  com- 
pliment to  his  mother's  cruel  and  unprovoked  negative. 

"Before  I  proceed,  I  must  give  you  some  idea  of  the 
real  appearance  of  this  palace.  I  recollect  your  having 
read  a  superficial  account  of  it  in  a  few  slight  sketches  of 
Poland  which  have  been  published  in  England;  but  the 
pictures  they  exhibit  are  so  faint,  they  hardly  resemble 
the  original.  Pray  do  not  laugh  at  me,  if  I  begin  in  the 
usual  descriptive  style!  You  know  there  is  only  one  way 
to  describe  houses  and  lands  and  rivers;  so  no  blame  can 
be  thrown  on  me  for  taking  the  beaten  path,  where  there 
is  no  other.     To  commence: 

"When  we  left  Zielime,  and  advanced  into  the  province 
of  Masovia,  the  country  around  Praga  rose  at  every  step 
in  fresh  beauty.  The  numberless  chains  of  gently  swell- 
ing hills  which  encompass  it  on  each  side  of  the  Vistula 
were  in  some  parts  checkered  with  corn-fields,  meadows, 
and  green  pastures  covered  with  sheep,  whose  soft  bleat- 
ings  thrilled  in  my  ears  and  transported  my  senses  into 
new  regions,  so  different  was  my  charmed  and  tranquil- 
ized  mind  from  the  tossing  anxieties  attendant  on  the 
horrors  I  had  recently  witnessed.  Surely  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  short  of  the  most  undivided  reciprocal  at- 
tachment, that  has  such  power  over  the  workings  of  the 
human  heart  as  the  mild  sweetness  of  nature.     The  most 


U  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

ruffled  temper,  when  emerging  from  the  town,  will  sub- 
side into  a  calm  at  the  sight  of  a  wide  stretch  of  landscape 
reposing  in  the  twilight  of  a  fine  evening.  It  is  then  that 
the  spirit  of  peace  settles  upon  the  heart,  unfetters  the 
thoughts,  and  elevates  the  soul  to  the  Creator.  It  is  then 
that  we  behold  the  Parent  of  the  universe  in  his  works; 
we  see  his  grandeur  in  earth,  sea,  and  sky:  we  feel  his 
affection  in  the  emotions  which  they  raise,  and,  half-mor- 
tal, half-etherealized,  forget  where  we  are,  in  the  antici- 
pation of  what  that  world  must  be  of  which  this  earth  is 
merely  the  shadow.* 

"Autumn  seemed  to  be  unfolding  all  her  beauties  to 
greet  the  return  of  the  palatine.  In  one  part  the  hay- 
makers were  mowing  the  hay  and  heaping  it  into  stacks; 
in  another,  the  reapers  were  gathering  up  the  wheat,  with 
a  troop  of  rosy  little  gleaners  behind  them,  each  of  whom 
might  have  tempted  the  proudest  Palemon  in  Christen- 
dom to  have  changed  her  toil  into  'a gentler  duty.'  Such 
a  landscape  intermingled  with  the  little  farms  of  these 
honest  people,  whom  the  philanthropy  of  Sobieski  has 
rendered  free  (for  it  is  a  tract  of  his  extensive  domains  I 
am  describing),  reminded  me  of  Somerset.  Villages  re- 
pose in  the  green  hollows  of  the  vales,  and  cottages  are 
seen  peeping  from  amid  the  thick  umbrage  of  the  woods 
which  cover  the  face  of  the  hills.  The  irregular  forms 
and  thatched  roofs  of  these  simple  habitations,  with  their 
infant  inhabitants  playing  at  the  doors,  compose  such 
lovely  groups  that  I  wish  for  our  dear  Mary's  pencil  and 
fingers  (for,  alas!  that  way  mine  are  motionless!)  to  trans- 
port them  to  your  eyes. 

"The  palace  of  Villanow,  which  is  castellated,  now 
burst  upon  my  view.  It  rears  its  embattled  head  from 
the  summit  of  a  hill  that  gradually  slopes  down  toward 

*  This  description  of  the  banks  of  the  Vistula  was  given  to  me 
with  smiles  and  sighs.  The  reality  was  once  enjoyed  by  the  narrator, 
and  there  was  a  delight  in  the  retrospection  "  sweet  and  mournful  to 
the  soul."  At  the  time  these  reflections  arose  on  such  a  scene,  I 
often  tasted  the  same  pleasure  in  evening  visits  to  the  beautiful  rural 
environs  of  London,  which  then  extended  from  the  north  side  of 
Fitzroy  Square  to  beyond  the  Elm  Grove  on  Primrose  Hill,  and  for- 
ward through  the  fields  to  Hampstead.  But  most  of  that  is  all  streets, 
or  Regent's  Park;  audi  the  sweet  Hill,  then  the  resort  of  many  a 
happy  Sunday  group,  Las  not  now  a  tree  standing  on  it,  and  hardly 
»  blade  of  grass,  "  to  mark  where  the  primrose  has  bee».'' 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  45 

the  Vistula,  in  full  view  to  the  south  of  the  plain  of  Vola, 
a  spot  long  famous  for  the  election  of  the  kings  of  Po- 
land.* On  the  north  of  the  building  the  earth  is  cut  into 
natural  ramparts,  which  rise  in  high  succession  until  they 
reach  the  foundations  of  the  palace,  where  they  terminate 
in  a  noble  terrace.  These  ramparts,  covered  with  grass, 
overlook  the  stone  outworks,  and  spread  down  to  the  bot- 
tom of  the  hill,  which  being  clothed  with  fine  trees  and 
luxuriant  underwood,  forms  such  a  rich  and  verdant  base 
to  the  fortress  as  I  have  not  language  to  describe:  were  I 
privileged  to  be  poetical,  I  would  say  it  reminds  me  of  the 
god  of  war  sleeping  amid  roses  in  the  bower  of  love. 
Here  the  eye  may  wander  over  the  gifts  of  bounteous 
nature,  arraying  hill  and  dale  in  all  the  united  treasures 
of  spring  and  autumn.  The  forest  stretches  its  yet  un- 
geared arms  to  the  breeze;  while  that  breeze  comes  laden 
with  the  fragrance  of  the  tented  hay,  and  the  thousand 


*  It  was  from  this  very  assumption  by  the  nation,  on  the  extinction 
of  the  male  line  of  the  monarchs  of  the  house  of  Jaghellon,  that  all 
their  subsequent  political  calamities  may  be  dated.  The  last  two 
sovereigns  of  this  race  were  most  justly  styled  good  and  great  kings 
— father  and  son — Sigismund  I.  and  II.  But  on  the  death  of  the 
last,  about  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century,  certain  nobles  of  the 
nation,  intoxicated  with  their  wealth  and  privileges,  ran  wild  for 
dictation  in  all  things;  and  as  the  foundation  for  such  rule,  tbey  de- 
termined to  make  the  succession  of  their  future  kings  entirely  de- 
pendent on  the  free  vote  of  public  suffrage;  and  the  plain  of  Vola 
was  made  the  terrible  arena.  So  it  may  be  called;  for,  from  the 
time  of  the  first  monarch  so  elected,  Henry  of  Valois,  a  stranger  to 
the  country,  and  brother  to  the  execrable  Charles  IX.  of  France, 
bribery  or  violence  have  been  the  usual  keys  to  the  throne  of  Poland. 
For  the  doors  of  the  country  being  once  opened  by  the  misguided 
people  themselves  to  the  influence  of  ambition,  partiality,  and  pas- 
sion, and  shut  against  the  old  tenure  of  a  settled  succession,  foreign 
powers  were  always  ready  to  step  in,  with  the  gold  or  the  sword; 
and  Poland  necessarily  became  a  vassal  adj  unct  to  whatever  neighbor- 
ing country  furnished  the  new  sovereign.  Thus  it  was,  with  a  few 
exceptions  (as  in  the  case  of  the  glorious  John  Sobieski),  until  the 
election  of  Stanislaus  Augustus,  who,  though  nominated  by  the 
power  of  the  Empress  of  Russia,  yet  being,  like  Sobieski,  a  native 
prince  of  the  nation,  determined  to  govern  the  people  of  Poland  in 
the  spirit  of  his  and  their  most  glorious  ancestors;  and  true  to  the 
vow,  treading  in  the  steps  of  the  last  of  the  Jaghellons,  he  gave  to 
Poland  the  constitution  of  1791,  which,  with  the  reenaction  of  many 
wise  laws,  again  made  the  throne  hemlitary.  Hence  the  devoted 
struggles  of  every  arm  it  the  country  in  loyal  defense  of  such  a 
recovered  existence. 


46  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

sweets  breathed  from   flowers,   which   in   this  delicious 
country  weep  honey. 

"A  magnificent  flight  of  steps  led  us  from  the  foot  of 
the  ramparts  up  to  the  gate  of  the  palace.  We  entered 
it,  and  were  presently  surrounded  by  a  train  of  attendants 
in  such  sumptuous  liveries  that  I  found  myself  all  at  once 
carried  back  into  the  fifteenth  century,  and  might  have 
fancied  myself  within  the  courtly  halls  of  our  Tudors  and 
Plantagenets.  You  can  better  conceive  than  I  can  paint 
the  scene  which  took  place  between  the  palatine,  the 
countess,  and  her  son.  I  can  only  repeat,  that  from  that 
hour  I  have  known  no  want  of  happiness  but  what  arises 
from  regret  that  my  dear  family  are  not  partakers  with 
me. 

"You  know  that  this  stupendous  building  was  the  fa- 
vorite residence  of  John  Sobieski,  and  that  he  erected  it  as 
a  resting-place  from  the  labors  of  his  long  and  glorious 
reign.  I  cannot  move  without  meeting  some  vestige  of 
that  truly  great  monarch.  I  sleep  in  his  bedchamber: 
there  hangs  his  portrait,  dressed  in  the  robes  of  sov- 
ereignty; here  are  suspended  the  arms  with  which  he 
saved  the  very  kingdoms  which  have  now  met  together  to 
destroy  his  country.  On  one  side  is  his  library;  on  the 
other,  the  little  chapel  in  which  he  used  to  pay  his  morn- 
ing and  evening  devotions.  Wherever  I  look,  my  eye 
finds  some  object  to  excite  my  reflections  and  emulation. 
The  noble  dead  seem  to  address  me  from  their  graves;  and 
I  blush  at  the  inglorious  life  I  might  have  pursued  had  I 
never  visited  this  house  and  its  inhabitants.  Yet,  my 
dearest  mother,  I  do  not  mean  to  insinuate  that  my  hon- 
ored father  and  brave  ancestors  have  not  set  me  examples 
as  bright  as  man  need  follow.  But  human  nature  is 
capricious;  we  are  not  so  easily  stimulated  by  what  is  al- 
ways in  our  view  as  with  sights  which,  rising  up  when  we 
are  removed  from  our  customary  associations,  surprise  and 
captivatt  our  attention.  Yillanow  has  only  awakened  me 
to  the  lesson  which  I  conned  over  in  drowsy  carelessness 
at  home.  Thaddeus  Sobieski  is  hardly  one  year  my  senior; 
bat,  good  heavens!  what  has  he  not  done?  what  has  he  not 
acquired?  While  I  abused  the  indulgence  of  my  parents, 
and  wasted  my  days  in  riding,  shooting,  and  walking  the 
streets,  he  was  learning  to  act  as  became  a  man  of  rank  and 
virtue;  and  by  seizing  every  opportunity  to  serve  the  state 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. .  47 

he  has  obtained  a  rich  reward  in  the  respect  and  admira- 
tion of  his  country.  I  am  not  envious,  but  I  now  feel  the 
truth  of  Caesar's  speech,  when  he  declared  'The  reputa- 
tion of  Alexander  would  not  let  him  sleep.'  Neverthe- 
less, I  dearly  love  my  friend.  I  murmur  at  my  own  de- 
merits, not  at  his  worth. 

''I  have  scribbled  over  all  my  paper,  otherwise  I  verily 
believe  I  should  write  more;  however,  I  promise  you  an- 
other letter  in  a-  week  or  two.  Meanwhile  I  shall  send 
this  packet  to  Mr.  Loftus,  who  is  at  St.  Petersburg,  to 
forward  it  to  you.  Adieu,  my  dear  mother!  I  am,  with 
reverence  to  my  father  and  yourself, 

"Your  truly  affectionate  son, 

''Pembroke  Somerset. 

"Villanow,  August,  1792." 


CHAPTER    VI. 

SOCIETY   IN   POLAND. 

"To  Lady  Somerset,  Somerset  Castle,  England.* 
"You  know,  my  dear  mother,  that  your  Pembroke  is 
famous  for  his  ingenious  mode  of  showing  the  full  value 
of  every  favor  he  confers!  Can  I  then  relinquish  the 
temptation  of  telling  you  what  I  have  left  to  make  you 
happy  with  this  epistle! 

"About  five  minutes  ago,  I  was  sitting  on  the  lawn  at 
the  feet  of  the  countess,  reading  to  her  and  the  Princess 
Poniatowski  the  charming  poem  of  'The  Pleasures  of 
Memory.'  As  both  these  ladies  understand  English, 
they  were  admiring  it  and  paying  many  compliments  to 
the  graces  of  my  delivery,  when  the  palatine  presented 
himself,  and  told  me,  if  I  had  any  commands  for  St. 
Petersburg,  I  must  prepare  them,  for  a  messenger  was  to 
set  off  on  the  next  morning,  by  daybreak.  I  instantly 
sprang  up,  threw  my  book  into  the  hand  of  Thaddeus, 
and  here  I  am  in  my  own  room  scribbling  to  you ! 

"Even  at  the  moment  in  which  I  dip  my  pen  in  the 
mk,  my  hurrying   imagination  paints  on  my   heart  the 

*  Written  three  weeks  after  the  preceding. 


48  THADDEUS  OF  WAESA  W. 

situation  of  my  beloved  home  when  this  letter  reaches 
yon.  I  think  I  see  you  and  my  good  aunt,  seated  on  the 
blue  sofa  in  your  dressing-room,  with  your  needlework  on 
the  little  table  before  you ;  I  see  Mary  in  her  usual  nook— 
the  recess  by  the  old  harpsichord — and  my  dear  father 
bringing  in  this  happy  letter  from  your  son !  I  must  con- 
fess this  romantic  kind  of  fancy  sketching  makes  me  feel 
rather  oddly :  very  unlike  what  I  felt  a  few  months  ago, 
when  I  was  a  mere  coxcomb — indifferent,  unreflecting, 
unappreciating,  and  fit  for  nothing  better  then  to  hold  pins 
at  my  lady's  toilet.  Well,  it  is  now  made  evident  to  me 
that  we  never  know  the  blessings  bestowed  on  us  until  we 
are  separated  from  the  possession  of  them.  Absence 
tightens  the  strings  which  unite  friends  as  well  as  lovers; 
at  least  I  find  it  so ;  and  though  I  am  in  the  fruition  of  every 
good  on  this  side  the  ocean,  yet  my  very  happiness  renders 
me  ungrateful,  and  I  repine  because  I  enjoy  it  alone. 
Positively,  I  must  bring  you  all  hither  to  pass  a  summer, 
or  come  back  at  the  termination  of  my  travels,  and  carry 
away  this  dear  family  by  main  force  to  England. 

"Tell  my  Cousin  Mary  that,  either  way,  I  shall  present 
to  her  esteem  the  most  amiable  and  accomplished  of  my 
sex;  but  I  warn  her  not  to  fall  in  love  with  him,  neither 
in  propria  persond,  nor  by  his  public  fame,  nor  with  his 
private  character.  Tell  her  'he  is  a  bright  and  particular 
star,'  neither  in  her  sphere  nor  in  any  other  woman's. 
In  this  way  he  is  as  cold  as  'Dian's  crescent;'  and  to  my 
great  amazement  too,  for  when  I  throw  my  eyes  over  the 
many  lovely  young  women  who  at  different  times  fill  the 
drawing-room  of  the  countess,  I  cannot  but  wonder  at  the 
perfect  indifference  with  which  he  views  their  (to  me) 
irresistible  charms. 

"He  is  polite  and  attentive  to  them  all;  he  talks  with 
them,  smiles  with  them,  and  treats  them  with  every  gen- 
tle complacency;  but  they  do  not  live  one  instant  in  his 
memory.  I  mean  they  do  not  occupy  his  particular 
wishes ;  for  with  regard  to  every  respectful  sentiment  to- 
ward the  sex  in  general,  and  esteem  to  some  amiable  in- 
dividuals, he  is  as  awake  as  in  the  other  case  he  is  still 
asleep.  The  fact  is,  he  has  no  idea  of  appropriation;  he 
never  casts  one  thought  upon  himself ;  kindness  is  spon- 
taneous in  his  nature;  his  sunny  eyes  beam  on  all  with 
modest  benignity,  and  his  frank  and  glowing  conversa- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  49 

tion  is  directed  to  every  rank  of  people.  They  imbibe  it 
with  an  avidity  and  love  which  makes  its  way  to  his  heart, 
without  kindling  one  spark  of  vanity.  Thus,  while  his 
fine  person  and  splendid  actions  fill  every  eye  and  bosom, 
I  see  him  moving  in  the  circle  unconscious  of  his  emi- 
nence and  the  admiration  he  excites. 

"Drawn  by  such  an  example,  to  which  his  high  quality 
as  well  as  extraordinary  merit  gives  so  great  an  influence, 
most  of  the  younger  nobility  have  been  led  to  enter  the 
army.  These  circumstances,  added  to  the  detail  of  his 
bravery  aud  uncommon  talent  in  the  field,  have  made 
him  an  object  of  universal  regard,  and,  in  consequence, 
wherever  he  is  seen  he  meets  with  applause  and  acclama- 
tion; nay,  even  at  the  appearance  of  his  carriage  in  the 
streets,  the  passengers  take  off  their  hats  and  pray  for  him 
till  he  is  out  of  sight.  It  is  only  then  that  I  perceive  his 
cheek  flush  with  the  conviction  that  he  is  seated  in  their 
hearts. 

"  'It  is  this,  Thaddeus,'  said  I  to  him  one  day,  when 
walking  together  we  were  obliged  to  retire  into  a  house 
from  the  crowds  that  followed  him;  'it  is  this,  my  dear 
friend,  which  shields  your  heart  against  the  arrows  of 
love.  You  have  no  place  for  that  passion ;  your  mistress 
is  glory,  and  she  courts  you.' 

"  'My  mistress  is  my  country,'  replied  he;  'at  present 
I  desire  no  other.  For  her  I  would  die;  for  her  only 
would  I  wish  to  live.'  While  he  spoke,  the  energy  of  his 
soul  blazed  in  his  eyes.     I  smiled. 

"  'You  are  an  enthusiast,  Thaddeus,    I  said. 

"  'Pembroke!'  returned  he,  in  a  surprised  and  reproach- 
ful tone. 

'  'I  do  not  give  you  that  name  opprobriously,'  resumed 
I,  laughing;  'but  there  are  many  in  my  country  who, 
hearing  these  sentiments,  would  not  scruple  to  call  you 
mad.' 

"  'Then  I  pity  them,'  returned  Thaddeus.  'Men  who 
cannot  ardently  feel,  cannot  taste  supreme  happiness. 
My  grandfather  educated  me  at  the  feet  of  patriotism, 
and  when  I  forget  his  precepts  and  example,  may  my 
guardian  angel  forget  me!' 

'Happy,  glorious  Thaddeus!'  cried  I,  grasping  his 
hand;  'how  I  envy  you  your  destiny!  to  live  as  you  do,  in 
the  lap  of  honor,  viture  and  glory  the  aim  and  end  of  your 
existence!' 


50 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


"The  animated  countenance  of  my  friend  changed  at 
these  words,  and  laying  his  hand  on  my  arm,  he  sajd,  'Do 
not  envy  me  my  destiny.  Pembroke,  you  are  the  son  of 
a  free  and  loyal  country,  at  peace  with  itself;  insatiate 
power  has  not  dared  to  invade  its  rights.  Your  king,  in 
happy  security,  reigns  in  the  confidence  of  his  people, 
while  our  anointed  Stanislaus  is  baited  and  insulted  by 
oppression  from  without  and  ingratitude  within.  Do  not 
envy  me:  I  would  rather  live  in  obscurity  all  my  days 
than  have  the  means  which  calamity  may  produce  of  ac- 
quiring celebrity  over  the  ruins  of  Poland.  Oh,  my 
friend,  the  wreath  that  crowns  the  head  of  conquest  is 
thick  and  bright;  but  that  which  binds  the  olive  of  peace 
on  the  bleeding  wounds  of  my  country  will  be  the  dearest 

to  me.' 

"  'Such  sentiments,  my  dear  madam,  have  opened  new 
lights  upon  my  poor  mistaken  faculties.  I  never  con- 
sidered the  subject  so  maturely  as  my  friend  has  done; 
victory  and  glory  were  with  me  synonymous  words.  I 
had  not  learned,  until  frequent  conversations  with  the 
young,  ardent,  and  pious  Sobieski  taught  me,  how  to  dis- 
criminate between  animal  courage  and  true  valor — between 
the  defender  of  his  country  and  the  ravager  of  other 
states.  In  short,  I  see  in  Thaddeus  Sobieski  all  that  my 
infancy  hath  ever  pictured  of  the  heroic  character. 
While  I  contemplate  the  sublimity  of  his  sentiments  and 
the  tenderness  of  his  soul,  I  cannot  help  thinking  how  few 
would  believe  that  so  many  admirable  qualities  could  be- 
long to  one  mind,  and  that  mind  remain  unacquainted 
with  the  throes  of  ambition  or  the  throbs  of  self-love." 

Pembroke  judged  rightly  of  his  friend;  for  if  ever  the 
real  disinterested  amor  patrice  glowed  in  the  breast  of  a 
man,  it  animated  the  heart  of  the  young  Sobieski.  At 
the  termination  of  the  foregoing  sentence  in  the  letter  to 
his  mother,  Pembroke  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of 
a  servant,  who  presented  him  a  packet  which  had  that 
moment  arrived  from  St.  Petersburg.  He  took  it,  and 
putting  his  writing  materials  into  a  desk,  read  the  follow- 
ing epistle  from  his  governor : 

"To  Pembroke   Somerset,  Esq. 

'"My  Dear  Sir:  I  have  this  day  received  your  letter, 
inclosing  one  for  Lady  Somerset.     You  must  pardon  me 


teadded::  of  Warsaw.  51 

that  I  have  detained  it,  and  will  continue  to  do  bo  until  I 
am  favored  with  your  answer  to  this,  for  which  I  shall 
most  anxiously  wait. 

"You  know,  Mr.  Somerset,  my  reputation  in  the 
sciences;  you  know  my  depth  in  the  languages;  and  be- 
sides, the  Marquis  of  Inverary,  with  whom  I  traveled  over 
the  Continent,  offered  you  sufficient  credentials  respect- 
ing my  knowledge  of  the  world,  and  the  honorable  man- 
ner in  which  I  treat  my  pupils.  Sir  Kobert  Somerset  and 
your  lady  mother  were  amply  satisfied  with  the  account 
which  his  lordship  gave  of  my  character;  but  with  all 
this,  in  one  point,  every  man  is  vulnerable.  No  scholar 
can  forget  those  lines  of  the  poet: 

'  Felices  ter,  et  amplius, 

Quos  irrupta  tenet  copula;  nee  malis 
Divulsus  quserimoniis, 

Suprema  citius  solvet  amor  die.' 

It  has  been  my  misfortune  that  I  have  felt  them. 

"You  are  not  ignorant  that  I  was  known  to  the  Brinicki 
family,  when  I  had  the  honor  of  conducting  the  marquis 
through  Eussia.  The  count's  accomplished  kinswoman, 
the  amiable  and  learned  widow  of  Baron  Surowkoff,  even 
then  took  particular  notice  of  me;  and  when  I  returned 
with  you  to  St.  Petersburg,  I  did  not  find  that  my  short 
absence  had  obliterated  me  from  her  memory. 

"You  are  well  acquainted  with  the  dignity  of  that  lady's 
opinions  on  political  subjects.  She  and  I  coincided  in 
ardor  for  the  consolidating  cause  of  sovereignty,  and  in 
hatred  of  that  leveling  power  which  pervades  all  Europe. 
Many  have  been  the  long  and  interesting  conversations  we 
have  held  together  on  the  prosecution  of  the  grand 
schemes  of  the  three  great  contracting  monarchs. 

"The  baroness,  I  need  not  observe,  is  as  handsome  as 
she  is  ingenuous;  her  understanding  is  as  masculine  as 
her  person  is  desirable;  and  I  had  been  more  or  less  than 
man  had  I  not  understood  that  my  figure  and  talents  were 
agreeable  to  her.  I  cannot  say  that  she  absolutely  prom- 
ised me  her  hand,  but  she  went  as  far  that  way  as  delicacy 
would  permit.  I  am  thus  circumstantial,  Mr.  Somerset, 
to  show  you  that  I  do  not  proceed  without  proof.  She 
has  repeatedly  said  in  my  presence  that  she  would  never 
marry  any  man  unless  he  were  not  only  well-looking,  but 


52  THADDEU8  OF  WARSA  W. 

of  the  profonndest  erudition,  united  with  an  acquaintance 
with  men  and  manners  which  none  can  dispute.  'Be- 
sides,' added  she,  'he  must  not  differ  with  me  one  tittle  in 
politics,  for  on  that  head  I  hold  myself  second  to  no  man 
or  woman  in  Europe.'  And  then  she  has  complimented 
me,  by  declaring  that  I  possessed  more  judicious  senti- 
ments on  government  than  any  man  in  St.  Petersburg, 
and  that  she  should  consider  herself  happy,  on  the  first 
vacancy  in  the  imperial  college,  to  introdue  me  at  court, 
where  she  was  'sure  the  empress  would  at  once  discover 
the  value  of  my  talents;  but,'  she  continued,  'in  such  a 
case,  I  will  not  allow  that  even  her  majesty  shall  rival  me 
in  your  esteem.'  The  modesty  natural  to  my  character 
told  me  that  these  praises  must  have  some  other  source 
than  my  comparatively  unequal  abilities;  and  I  unequiv- 
ocally found  it  in  the  partiality  with  which  her  ladyship 
condescended  to  regard  me. 

"Was  I  to  blame,  Mr.  Somerset?  Would  not  any  man 
of  sensibility  and  honor  have  comprehended  such  advances 
from  a  woman  of  her  rank  and  reputation?  I  could  not 
be  mistaken;  her  looks  and  words  needed  no  explanation 
which  my  judgment  could  not  pronounce.  Though  I  am 
aware  that  I  do  not  possess  that  lumen  purpureum  juvenim 
which  attracts  very  young,  uneducated  women,  yet  I  am 
not  much  turned  of  fifty;  and  from  the  baroness'  singular 
behavior,  I  had  every  reason  to  expect  handsomer  treat- 
ment than  she  has  been  pleased  to  dispense  to  me  since 
my  return  to  this  capital. 

"But  to  proceed  regularly  (I  must  beg  you  pardon  for 
the  warmth  which  has  hurried  me  to  this  digression) :  you 
know,  sir,  that  from  the  hour  in  which  I  had  the  honor 
of  taking  leave  of  your  noble  family  in  England,  I  strove 
to  impress  upon  your  rather  volatile  mind  a  just  and  ac- 
curate conception  of  the  people  among  whom  I  was  to 
conduct  you.  When  I  brought  you  into  this  extensive 
empire,  I  left  no  means  nnexerted  to  heighten  your  re- 
spect not  only  for  its  amiable  sovereign,  but  for  all  pow- 
ers in  amity  with  her.  It  is  the  characteristic  of  genius 
to  be  zealous.  I  was  so,  in  favor  of  the  pretensions  of  the 
great  Catharine  to  that  miserable  country  in  which  you 
now  are,  and  to  which  she  deigned  to  offer  her  protection. 
To  this  zeal  and  my  unfortunate  though  honorable  devo- 
tion to  the  wishes  of  the  baroness,  I  am  constrained  to 
attribute  my  present  dilemma. 


TEABDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  53 

"When  Poland  had  the  insolence  to  rebel  against  its 
illustrious  mistress,  you  remember  that  all  the  rational 
world  was  highly  incensed.  The  Baroness  Surowkoff 
declared  herself  frequently,  and  with  vehemence  she  ap- 
pealed to  me.  My  veracity  and  my  principles  were  called 
forth,  and  I  confessed  that  I  thought  every  friend  to  the 
Tzaritza  ought  to  take  np  arm's  against  that  ungrateful 
people.  The  Count  Brinicki  was  then  appointed  to  com- 
mand the  Russian  forces  preparing  to  join  the  formidable 
allies;  and  her  ladyship,  very  unexpectedly  on  my  part, 
answered  me  by  approving  what  I  said,  and  added  that  of 
course  I  meant  to  follow  her  cousin  into  Poland,  for  that 
even  she,  as  a  woman,  was  so  earnest  in  the  cause,  she 
would  accompany  him  to  the  frontiers,  and  there  await 
the  result. 

"What  could  I  do?  How  could  I  withstand  the  expec- 
tations of  a  lady  of  her  quality,  and  one  who  I  believed 
loved  me?  However,  for  some  time  I  did  oppose  my  wish 
to  oblige  her;  I  urged  my  cloth,  and  the  impossibility  of 
accounting  for  such  a  line  of  conduct  to  the  father  of  my 
pupil.  The  baroness  ridiculed  all  these  arguments  as 
mere  excuses,  and  ended  with  saying,  'Do  as  you  please, 
Mr.  Loftus.  I  have  been  deceived  in  your  character;  the 
friend  of  the  Baroness  Surowkoff  must  be  consistent;  he 
must  be  as  willing  to  fight  for  the  cause  he  espouses  as  to 
speak  for  it:  in  this  case,  the  sword  must  follow  the 
oration,  else  we  shall  see  Poland  in  the  hands  of  a  rabble.' 

"This  decided  me.  I  offered  my  services  to  the  count 
to  attend  him  to  the  field.  He  and  the  young  lords  per- 
suaded you  to  do  the  same;  and  as  I  could  not  think  of 
leaving  you,  when  your  father  had  placed  you  under  my 
charge,  I  was  pleased  to  find  that  my  approval  confirmed 
your  wish  to  turn  soldier.  I  was  not  then  acquainted, 
Mr.  Somerset  (for  you  did  not  tell  me  of  it  until  we  were 
far  advanced  into  Poland),  with  Sir  Robert's  and  my  lady's 
dislike  of  the  army.  This  has  been  a  prime  source  of  my 
error  throughout  this  affair.  Had  I  known  their  repug- 
nance to  your  taking  up  arms,  my  duty  would  have 
triumphed  over  even  my  devotion  to  the  baroness;  but 
I  was  born  under  a  melancholy  horoscope;  nothing  hap- 
pens as  any  one  of  my  humblest  wishes  might  warrant. 

"At  the  first  onset  of  the  battle,  I  became  so  suddenly 
ill  that  I  was  obliged  to  retire;  and  on  this  unfortunate 
event,  which  was  completely  unwilled  on  my  part  (for  uo 


54  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

man  can  command  the  periods  of  sickness),  the  baroness 
founded  a  contempt  which  has  disconcerted  all  my 
schemes.  Besides,  when  I  attempted  to  remonstrate  with 
her  ladyship  on  the  promise  which,  if  not  directly  given, 
was  implied,  she  laughed  at  me;  and  when  I  persisted  in 
my  suit,  all  at  once,  like  the  rest  of  her  ungrateful  and 
undistinguishing  sex,  she  burst  into  a  tempest  of  invec- 
tives, and  forbade  me  her  presence. 

"What  am  I  now  to  do,  Mr.  Somerset?  This  incon- 
sistent woman  has  betrayed  me  into  conduct  diametrically 
opposite  to  the  commands  of  your  family.  Your  father 
particularly  desired  that  I  would  not  suffer  you  to  go 
either  into  Hungary  or  Poland.  In  the  last  instance  I 
have  permitted  you  to  disobey  him.  And  my  Lady 
Somerset  (who,  alas !  I  now  remember  lost  both  her  father 
and  brother  in  different  engagements),  you  tell  me,  had 
declared  that  she  never  would  pardon  the  man  who  should 
put  military  ideas  into  your  head. 

"Therefore,  sir,  though  you  are  my  pupil,  I  throw  my- 
self on  your  generosity.  If  you  persist  in  acquainting 
your  family  with  the  late  transactions  at  Zielime,  and 
your  present  residence  in  Poland,  I  shall  finally  be  ruined. 
I  shall  not  only  forfeit  the  good  opinion  of  your  noble 
father  and  mother,  but  lose  all  prospect  of  the  living  of 
Somerset,  which  Sir  Robert  was  so  gracious  as  to  promise 
should  be  mine  on  the  demise  of  the  present  incumbent. 
You  know,  Mr.  Somerset,  that  I  have  a  mother  and  six 
sisters  in  Wales,  whose  support  depends  on  my  success  in 
life;  if  my  preferment  be  stopped  now,  they  must  neces- 
sarily be  involved  in  a  distress  which  makes  me  shudder. 

"I  cannot  add  more,  sir;  I  know  well  your  character 
for  generosity,  and  I  therefore  rest  upon  it  with  the 
utmost  confidence.  I  shall  detain  the  letter  which  you 
did  me  the  honor  to  inclose  for  my  Lady  Somerset  till  I 
receive  your  decision;  and  ever,  while  I  live,  will  I  hence- 
forth remain  firm  to  my  old  and  favorite  maxim,  which  I 
adopted  from  the  glorious  epistle  of  Horace  to  Numicius. 
Perhaps  you  may  not  recollect  the  lines.     They  run  thus: 

'  Nil  admirari,  propo  res  est  una,  Numici, 
Solaque,  quae  possit  facere  et  servare  beatum.' 

"I  am  your  most  obedient  servant, 

"Andrew  Loftus. 
"St.  Petersburg,  September,  1792. 


TIIADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  55 

"P.  8. — Just  as  I  was  about  sealing  this  packet,  the 
English  ambassador  forwarded  to  me  a  short  letter  from 
your  father,  in  which  he  desires  us  to  quit  Russia,  and  to 
make  the  best  of  our  way  to  England,  where  you  are 
wanted  on  a  most  urgent  occasion.  He  explains  himself 
no  further,  only  repeating  his  orders  in  express  commands 
that  we  set  off  instantly.     I  wait  your  directions." 

This  epistle  disconcerted  Mr.  Somerset.  He  always 
guessed  the  Baroness  Surowkoff  was  amusing  herself  with 
his  vain  and  pedantic  preceptor;  but  he  never  entertained 
a  suspicion  that  her  ladyship  would  carry  her  pleasantry 
to  so  cruel  an  excess.  He  clearly  saw  that  the  fears  of 
Mr.  Loftus  with  regard  to  the  displeasure  of  his  parents 
were  far  from  groundless;  and  therefore,  as  there  was  no 
doubt,  from  the  extreme  age  of  Dr.  Manners,  that  the 
rectory  of  Somerset  would  soon  become  vacant,  he  thought 
it  better  to  oblige  his  poor  governor,  and  preserve  their 
secret  for  a  month  or  two,  than  to  give  him  up  to  the  in- 
dignation of  Sir  Robert.  On  these  grounds,  Pembroke 
resolved  to  write  to  Mr.  Loftus,  and  ease  the  anxiety  of 
his  heart.  Although  he  ridiculed  his  vanity,  he  could 
not  help  respecting  the  affectionate  solicitude  of  a  son 
and  a  brother,  and  as  that  plea  had  won  him,  half-angry, 
half -grieved,  and  half-laughing,  he  dispatched  a  few  hasty 
lines. 

"To  the  Kev.  Andrew  Loftus,  St.  Petersburg. 

"What  whimsical  fit,  my  dear  sir,  has  seized  my  father, 
that  I  am  recalled  at  a  moment's  notice?  Faith,  I  am  so 
mad  at  the  summons,  and  at  his  not  deigning  to  assign  a 
reason  for  his  order,  that  I  do  not  know  how  I  may  be 
tempted  to  act. 

"Another  thing,  you  beg  of  me  not  to  say  a  word  of  my 
having  been  in  Poland;  and  for  that  purpose  you  have 
withheld  the  letter  which  I  sent  to  you  to  forward  to  my 
mother!  You  offer  far-fetched  and  precious  excuses  for 
having  betrayed  your  own  wisdom,  and  your  pupil's  inno- 
cence, into  so  mortal  an  offense.  One  cause  of  my  being 
here,  you  say,  was  your  'ardor  in  the  cause  of  insulted 
Russia,  and  your  hatred  of  that  leveling  power  which 
pervades  all  Europe.' 

"Well,  I  grant  it.     I  understood  from  you  and  Brinicki 


56  TEA  DDEUS  OF  WA  RSA  W. 

that  yon  were  leading  mo  against  a  set  of  violent,  discon- 
tented men  of  rank,  who,  in  proportion  as  each  was  in- 
flated with  his  own  personal  pride,  despised  all  of  their 
own  order  who  did  not  agree  with  them,  and,  coalescing 
together  under  the  name  of  freedom,  were  introducing 
anarchy  throughout  a  country  which  Catharine  would 
graciously  have  protected..  All  this  I  find  to  be  in  error. 
But  both  of  you  may  have  been  misled:  the  count  by 
partiality  and  you  by  misrepresentation;  therefore  I  do 
not  perceive  why  you  should  be  in  such  a  terror.  The 
wisest  man  in  the  world  may  see  through  bad  lights;  and 
why  should  you  think  my  father  would  never  pardon  you 
for  having  been  so  unlucky? 

"Yet  to  dispel  your  dread  of  such  tidings  ruining  you 
with  Sir  Robert,  I  will  not  be  the  first  to  tell  him  of  our 
quixoting.  Only  remember,  my  good  sir — though,  to 
oblige  you,  I  withhold  my  letters  to  my  mother,  and  when 
I  arrive  in  England  shall  lock  up  my  lips  from  mention- 
ing Poland — that  positively,  I  will  not  be  mute  one 
day  longer  than  that  in  which  my  father  presents  you 
with  the  living  of  Somerset;  then  you  will  be  independ- 
ent of  his  displeasure,  and  I  may,  and  will,  declare  my 
everlasting  gratitude  to  this  illustrious  family. 

"I  am  half-mad  when  I  think  of  leaving  them.  I  must 
now  tear  myself  from  this  mansion  of  comfort  and  affec- 
tion, to  wander  with  you  in  some  rumbling  old  barouche 
'over  brake  and  through  briar!'  Well,  patience!  An- 
other such  upset  to  your  friends  of  the  Neva,  and  with 
'victory  perched  like  an  eagle  on  their  laureled  brows,'  I 
may  have  some  chance  of  wooing  the  Sobieskis  to  the 
banks  of  the  Thames. .  At  present,  I  have  not  sufficient 
hope  to  keep  me  in  good  humor. 

"Meet  me  this  day  week  at  Dantzic;  I  shall  there  embark 
for  England.  You  had  best  not  bring  the  foreign  serv- 
ants with  you ;  they  might  blab.  Discharge  them  at  St. 
Petersburg,  and  hire  a  courier  for  yourself,  whom  we  may 
drop  at  the  seaport. 

"I  am  your  most  obedient  servant, 

"Pembroke  Somerset. 

"Villanow,  September,  1792." 

When  Somerset  joined  his  friends  at  supper,  and  im- 
parted to  them  the1  commands  of  his  father,  an  immediate 


TEA  DBKUS  OF  WA RSA  W.  57 

change  was  produced  in  the  spirits  of  the  party.  During 
the  lamentations  of  the  ladies  and  the  murmurs  of  the 
young  men,  the  countess  tried  to  dispel  the  effects  of  the 
information  by  addressing  Pembroke  with  a  smile,  and 
saying,  "But  we  hope  that  you  have  seen  enough  at  Vil- 
lanow  to  tempt  you  back  again  at  no  very  distant  period. 
Tell  Lady  Somerset  you  have  left  a  second  mother  in  Po- 
land who  will  long  to  receive  another  visit  from  her 
adopted  son." 

"Yes,  my  dear  madam,"  returned  he;  "and  I  shall 
hope,  before  a  very  distant  period,  to  see  those  two  kind 
mothers  united  as  intimately  by  friendship  as  they  are  in 
my  heart." 

Thaddeus  listened  with  a  saddened  countenance.  He 
had  not  been  accustomed  to  the  thought  of  a  long  separa- 
tion, and  when  he  met  it  now,  he  hardly  knew  how  to 
proportion  his  uneasiness  to  the  privation.  Hope  and  all 
the  hilarities  of  youth  flushed  in  his  soul;  his  features 
continually  glowed  with  animation,  while  the  gay  beam- 
ing of  his  eyes  ever  answered  to  the  smile  on  his  lips. 
Hence  the  slightest  veering  of  his  mind  was  perceptible 
to  the  countess,  who,  turning  round,  saw  him  leaning 
thoughtfully  in  his  chair,  while  Pembroke,  with  increas- 
ing vehemence,  was  running  through  various  invectives 
against  the  hastiness  of  his  recall. 

"Come,  come,  Thaddeus!"  cried  she;  "let  us  think  no 
more  of  this  parting  until  it  arrives.  You  know  that 
anticipation  of  evil  is  the  death  of  happiness;  and  it  will 
be  a  kind  of  suicide  should  we  destroy  the  hours  we  may 
yet  enjoy  together  in  vain  complainings  that  they  are  so 
soon  to  terminate." 

A  little  exhortation  from  the  countess,  and  a  maternal 
kiss  which  she  imprinted  on  his  cheek,  restored  him  to 
cheerfulness,  and  the  evening  passed  more  pleasantly  than 
it  had  portended. 

Much  as  the  palatine  esteemed  Pembroke  Somerset,  his 
mind  was  too  deeply  absorbed  in  the  condition  of  the 
kingdom  to  attend  to  less  considerable  cares.  He  beheld 
his  country,  even  on  the  verge  of  destruction,  awaiting 
with  firmness  the  approach  of  the  earthquake  which 
threatened  to  ingulf  it  in  the  neighboring  nations.  He 
saw  the  storm  lowering;  but  he  determined,  while  there 
remained  one  spot  of  vantage-ground  above  the  general 


58  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

wreck,  that  Poland  should  yet  have  a  name  and  a  de> 
fender.  These  thoughts  possessed  him ;  and  he  had  not 
leisure  to  regret  pleasure  when  he  was  struggling  for 
existence. 

The  empress  continued  to  pour  her  armies  into  the 
heart  of  the  kingdom.  The  King  c4  Prussia,  boldly  fly- 
ing from  his  treaties,  marched  to  bid  her  colors  a  con- 
queror's welcome;  and  the  Emperor  of  Germany,  follow- 
ing the  example  of  so  great  a  prince,  did  not  blush  to 
show  that  his  word  was  equally  contemptible. 

Dispatches  daily  arrived  of  the  villages  being  laid  waste; 
that  neither  age,  sex,  nor  situation  shielded  the  unfor- 
tunate inhabitants,  and  that  all  the  frontier  provinces 
were  in  flames. 

The  Diet  was  called,*  and  the  debates  agitated  with  the 
anxiety  of  men  who  were  met  to  decide  on  their  clearest 
interests.  The  bosom  of  the  benevolent  Stanislaus  bled 
at  the  dreadful  picture  of  his  people's  sufferings,  and 
hardly  able  to  restrain  his  tears,  he  answered  the  animated 
exordiums  of  Sobieski  for  resistance  to  the  last  with  an 
appeal  immediately  to  his  heart. 

"What  is  it  that  you  urge  me  to  do,  my  lord?"  said  he. 
"Was  it  not  to  secure  the  happiness  of  my  subjects  that  I 
labored?  and  finding  my  designs  impracticable,  what  ad- 
vantage would  it  be  to  them  should  I  pertinaciously 
oppose  their  small  numbers  to  the  accumulated  array  of 
two  empires,  and  of  a  king  almost  as  powerful  as  either? 
What  is  my  kingdom  but  the  comfort  of  my  people? 
What  will  it  avail  me  to  see  them  fall  around  me,  man  by 
man,  and  the  few  who  remain  bending  in  speechless  sor- 
row over  their  graves?  Such  a  sight  would  break  my 
heart.  Poland  without  its  people  would  be  a  desert,  and 
I  a  hermit  rather  than  a  king." 

In  vain  the  palatine  combated  these  arguments,  show- 
ing the  vain  quiet  such  a  peace  might  afford,  by  declaring 
it  could  only  be  temporary.  In  vain  he  told  his  majesty 
that  he  would  purchase  safety  for  the  present  race  at  the 
vast  expense  of  not  only  the  liberty  of  posterity,  but  of 
its  probity  and  happiness. 

"However  you  disguise  slavery,"  cried  he,  "it  is  slavery 

*  Tbe  constitutional  Diet  of  Poland  nearly  answers  in  principle  to 
the  British  three  estates  in  Parliament — King,  Lords,  and  Commons. 


THADDEUS  OF  WAR8A  W.  59 

still.  Its  chains,  though  wreathed  with  roses,  not  only 
fasten  on  the  body,  but  rivet  on  the  mind.  They  bend  it 
from  the  loftiest  virtue  to  a  debasement  beneath  calcula- 
tion. They  disgrace  honor;  they  trample  upon  justice. 
They  transform  the  legions  of  Koine  into  a  band  of  singers. 
They  prostrate  the  sons  of  Athens  and  of  Sparta  at  the 
feet  of  cowards.  They  make  man  abjure  his  birthright, 
bind  himself  to  another's  will,  and  give  that  into  a 
tyrant's  hands  which  he  received  as  a  deposit  from 
Heaven — his  reason,  his  conscience,  and  his  soul.  Think 
on  this,  and  then,  if  you  can,  subjugate  Poland  to  her 
enemies." 

Stanislaus,  weakened  by  years  and  subdued  by  disap- 
pointment, now  retained  no  higher  wish  than  to  save  his 
subjects  from  immediate  outrage.  He  did  not  answer 
the  palatine,  but  with  streaming  eyes  bent  over  the  table, 
and  annulled  the  glorious  constitution  of  1791.  Then 
with  emotions  hardly  short  of  agony,  he  signed  an  order 
presented  by  a  plenipotentiary  from  the  combined  powers, 
which  directed  Prince  Poniatowski  to  deliver  the  army 
under  his  command  into  the  hands  of  General  Brinicki. 

As  the  king  put  his  signature  to  these  papers,  Sobieski, 
who  had  strenuously  withstood  each  decision,  started 
from  his  chair,  bowed  to  his  sovereign,  and  in  silence  left 
the  apartment.     Several  noblemen  followed  him. 

These  pacific  measures  did  not  meet  with  better  treat- 
ment from  without.  When  they  were  noised  abroad,  an 
alarming  commotion  arose  among  the  inhabitants  of  War- 
saw, and  nearly  four  thousand  men  of  the  first  families  in 
the  kingdom  assembled  themselves  in  the  park  of  Vil- 
lanow,  and  with  tumultuous  eagerness  declared  their 
resolution  to  resist  the  invaders  of  their  country  to  their 
last  gasp.  The  Prince  Sapieha,  Kosciusko,  and  Sobieski, 
with  the  sage  Dombrowski,  were  the  first  who  took  this 
oath  of  fidelity  to  Poland ;  and  they  administered  it  to 
Thaddeus,  who,  kneeling  down,  inwardly  invoked  Heaven 
to  aid  him  as  he  swore  to  fulfill  his  trust. 

In  the  midst  of  these  momentous  affairs,  Pembroke 
Somerset  bade  adieu  to  his  Polish  friends,  and  set  sail 
with  his  governor  from  Dantzic  for  England. 


60  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 


CHAPTER   VII. 

THE   DIET  OF   POLAND. 

Those  winter  months  which  before  this  year  had  been 
at  Villanow  the  season  for  cheerfulness  and  festivity,  now 
rolled  away  in  the  sad  pomp  of  national  debates  and  mili- 
tary assemblies. 

Prussia  usurped  the  best  part  of  Pomerelia,  and  garri- 
soned it  with  troops;  Catharine  declared  her  dominion 
over  the  vast  tract  of  land  which  lies  between  the  Dwina 
and  Borysthenes;  and  Frederick  William  marked  down 
another  sweep  of  Poland,  to  iollow  the  fate  of  Dantzic  and 
of  Thorn,  while  watching  the  dark  policy  of  Austria  re- 
garding its  selecting  portions  of  the  dismembering  state. 

Calamities  and  insults  were  heaped  day  after  day  on  the 
defenseless  Poles.  The  deputies  of  the  provinces  were 
put  into  prison,  and  the  provisions  intended  for  the 
king's  table  interrupted  and  appropriated  by  the  depreda- 
tors to  their  own  use.  Sobieski  remonstrated  on  this  last 
outrage;  but  incensed  at  reproof,  and  irritated  at  the 
sway  which  the  palatine  still  held,  an  order  was  issued  for 
all  the  Sobieski  estates  in  Lithuania  and  Podolia  to  be 
sequestrated  and  divided  between  four  of  the  invading 
generals. 

In  vain  the  Villanow  confederation  endeavored  to  re- 
monstrate with  the  empress.  Her  ambassador  not  only 
refused  to  forward  the  dispatches,  but  threatened  the 
nobles  if  they  did  not  comply  with  every  one  of  his  de- 
mands, he  would  lay  all  the  estates,  possessions,  and  habi- 
tations of  the  members  of  the  Diet  under  an  immediate 
military  execution.  Nay,  punishment  should  not  stop 
there;  for  if  the  king  joined  the  Sobieski  party  (to  which 
he  now  appeared  inclined),  the  royal  domains  should  not 
only  meet  the  same  fate,  but  harsher  treatment  should 
folloAv,  until  both  the  people  and  their  proud  sovereign 
were  brought  into  due  subjection. 

These  menaces  were  too  arrogant  to  have  any  other 
©fleet  upon  the  Poles  than  that  of  giving  a  new  spur  to 
their  resolution.  With  the  same  firmness  they  repulsed 
similar  fulminations  from  the  Prussian  ambassador,  and, 
with  a  coolness  which  was  only  equaled  by  their  intrepid- 
ity, they  prepared  to  resume  their  arms. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  61 

Hearing  by  private  information  that  their  threats  were 
despised,  next  morning,  before  daybreak,  these  despotic 
envoys  surrounded  the  building  where  the  confederation 
was  sitting  with  two  battalions  of  grenadiers  and  four 
pieces  of  cannon,  and  then  issued  orders  that  no  Pole 
should  pass  the  gates  without  being  fired  on.  General 
Rautenfeld,  who  was  set  over  the  person  of  the  king,  de- 
clared that  not  even  his  majesty  might  stir  until  the  Diet 
had  given  a  unanimous  and  full  consent  to  the  imperial 
commands. 

The  Diet  set  forth  the  unlawfulness  of  signing  any 
treaty  while  thus  withheld  from  the  freedom  of  will  ami 
debate.  They  urged  that  it  was  not  legal  to  enter  into 
deliberation  when  violence  had  recently  been  exerted 
against  any  individual  of  their  body;  and  howcould  they 
do  it  now,  deprived  as  they  were  of  five  of  their  principal 
members,  whom  the  ambassadors  well  knew  they  had 
arrested  on  their  way  to  the  Senate?  Sobieski  and  four 
of  his  friends,  being  the  members  most  inimical  to  the 
oppression  going  on,  were  these  five.  In  vain  their  liber- 
ation was  required ;  and  enraged  at  the  pertinacity  of  this 
opposition,  Rautenfeld  repeated  the  former  threats,  with 
the  addition  of  more,  swearing  that  they  should  take 
place  without  appeal  if  the  Diet  did  not  directly  and  un- 
conditionally sign  the  pretensions  both  of  his  court  and 
that  of  Prussia. 

After  a  hard  contention  of  many  hours,  the  members  at 
last  agreed  among  themselves  to  make  a  solemn  public 
protest  against  the  present  tyrannous  measures  of  the  two 
ambassadors;  and  seeing  that  any  attempt  to  inspire  them 
even  with  decency  was  useless,  they  determined  to  cease 
all  debate,  and  kept  a  profound  silence  when  the  marshal 
should  propose  the  project  in  demand. 

This  sorrowful  silence  was  commenced  in  resentment 
and  retained  through  despair;  this  sorrowful  silence  was 
called  by  their  usurpers  a  consent;  this  sorrowful  silence 
is  held  up  to  the  world  and  to  posterity  as  a  free  cession 
by  the  Poles  of  all  those  rights  which  they  had  received 
from  nature,  ratified  by  laws,  and  defended  with  their 
blood.* 

*Thus,  like  the  curule  fathers  of  Rome,  they  sat  unyielding,  await- 
ing the  threatened  stroke.  But  the  dignity  of  virtue  held  her  shield 
over  them;  and  with  an  answering  silence  on  the  part  of  the  con- 
federated ambassadors,  the  D'uu  nUjunruM"  was  vacated. 


62  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

The  morning  after  this  dreadful  day,  the  Senate  met  at 
one  of  the  private  palaces;  and,  indignant  and  broken- 
hearted, they  delivered  the  following  declaration  to  the 
people: 

"The  Diet  of  Poland,  hemmed  in  by  foreign  troops, 
menaced  with  an  influx  of  the  enemy,  which  would  be  at- 
tended by  universal  ruin,  and  finally  insulted  by  a  thou- 
sand outrages,  have  been  forced  to  witness  the  signing  of 
a  submissive  treaty  with  their  enemies. 

"The  Diet  had  strenuously  endeavored  to  have  added 
to  that  treaty  some  conditions  to  which  they  supposed  the 
lamentable  state  of  the  country  would  have  extorted  an 
acquiescence,  even  from  the  heart  of  a  conqueror's 
power.  But  the  Diet  were  deceived:  they  found  such 
power  was  unaccompanied  by  humanity;  they  found  that 
the  foe,  having  thrown  his  victim  to  the  ground,  would 
not  refrain  from  exulting  in  the  barbarous  triumph  of 
trampling  upon  her  neck. 

"The  Diet  rely  on  the  justice  of  Poland — rely  on  her 
belief  that  they  would  not  betray  the  citadel  she  confided 
to  their  keeping.  Her  preservation  is  dearer  to  them 
than  their  lives;  but  fate  seems  to  be  on  the  side  of  their 
destroyer.  Fresh  insults  have  been  heaped  upon  their 
heads  and  new  hardships  have  been  imposed  upon  them. 
To  prevent  all  deliberations  on  this  debasing  treaty,  they 
are  not  only  surrounded  by  foreign  troops  and  dared  with 
hostile  messages,  but  they  have  been  violated  by  the  arrest 
of  their  prime  members,  while  those  who  are  still  suffered 
to  possess  a  personal  freedom  have  the  most  galling 
shackles  laid  upon  their  minds. 

"Therefore,  I,  the  King  of  Poland,  enervated  by  age, 
and  sinking  under  the  accumulated  weight  of  mv  king- 
dom's afflictions,  and  also  we,  the  members  of  the  Diet, 
declare  that,  being  unable,  even  by  the  sacrifice  of  our 
lives,  to  relieve  our  country  from  the  yoke  of  its  oppress- 
ors, we  consign  it  to  our  children  and  the  justice  of 
Heaven. 

"In  another  age,  means  may  be  found  to  rescue  it  from 
chains  and  misery;  but  such  means  are  not  put  in  our 
power.  Other  countries  neglect  us.  While  they  repro- 
bate the  violations  which  a  neighboring  nation  is  alleged 
to  have  committed  against  rational  liberty,  they  behold, 
not  only  with  apathy,  but  with  approbation,  the  ravages 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  63 

which  are  now  desolating  Poland.  Posterity  must  avenge 
it.  We  have  done.  We  accede  in  silence,  for  the  reasons 
above  mentioned,  to  the  treaty  laid  before  us,  though  we 
declare  that  it  is  contrary  to  our  wishes,  to  our  senti- 
ments, and  to  our  rights." 

Thus,  in  November,  1793,  compressed  to  one-fourth  of 
her  dimensions  by  the  lines  of  demarcation  drawn  by  her 
invaders,  Poland  was  stripped  of  her  rank  in  Europe;  her 
"power  delivered  up  to  strangers,  and  her  beauty  into  the 
hands  of  her  enemies!"  Ill-fated  people!  Nations  will 
weep  over  your  wrongs;  while  the  burning  blush  of 
shame,  that  their  fathers  witnessed  such  wrongs  unmoved, 
shall  cause  the  tears  to  blister  as  they  fall. 

During  these  transactions,  the  Countess  Sobieski  con- 
tinued in  solitude  at  Villanow,  awaiting  with  awful 
anxiety  the  termination  of  those  portentous  events  which 
so  deeply  involved  her  own  comforts  with  those  of  her 
country.  Her  father  Avas  in  prison,  her  son  at  a  distance 
with  the  army.  Sick  at  heart,  she  saw  the  opening  of 
that  spring  which  might  be  the  commencement  only  of  a 
new  season  of  injuries;  and  her  fears  were  prophetic. 

It  being  discovered  that  some  Masovian  regiments  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Warsaw  yet  retained  their  arms,  they 
were  ordered  by  the  foreign  envoys  to  lay  them  down.  A 
few,  thinking  denial  vain,  obeyed;  but  bolder  spirits  fol- 
lowed Thaddeus  Sobieski  toward  South  Prussia,  whither 
he  had  directed  his  steps  on  the  arrest  of  his  grandfather, 
and  where  he  had  gathered  and  kept  together  a  hand- 
ful of  brave  men,  still  faithful  to  their  liberties.  His 
name  alone  collected  numbers  in  every  district  through 
which  he  marched.  Persecution  from  their  adversary 
as  well  as  admiration  of  Thaddeus  had  given  a  resist- 
less power  to  his  appearance,  look,  and  voice,  all  of 
which  had  such  an  effect  on  the  peasantry  that  they 
eagerly  crowded  to  his  standard,  while  their  young  lords 
committed  themselves  without  reserve  to  his  sole  judg- 
ment and  command.  The  Prussian  ambassador,  hearing 
of  this,  sent  to  Stanislaus  to  command  the  grandson  of 
Sobieski  to  disband  his  troops.  The  king  refusing,  and 
his  answer  being  communicated  to  the  Russian  envoy 
also,  war  was  renewed  with  redoubled  fury. 

The  palatine  remained  in  confinement,  hopeless  of  ob- 
taining    release     without    tht    aid    of    stratagem.      His 


64  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

country's  enemies  were  too  well  aware  of  their  interest  to 
give  freedom  to  so  active  an  opponent.  They  sought  to 
vex  his  spirit  with  every  mental  torture;  but  he  rather 
received  consolation  than  despair  in  the  reports  daily 
brought  to  him  by  his  jailers.  They  told  him  that  his 
grandson  continued  to  carry  himself  with  such  insolent 
opposition  in  the  south,  it  would  be  well  if  the  empress, 
at  the  termination  of  the  war,  allowed  him  to  escape  with 
banishment  to  Siberia.  But  every  reproach  thus  lev- 
eled at  the  palatine  he  found  had  been  bought  by  some 
new  success  of  Thaddeus;  and  instead  of  permitting  their 
malignity  to  intimidate  his  age  or  alarm  his  affection,  he 
told  the  officer  (who  kept  guard  in  his  chambers)  that  if 
his  grandson  were  to  lose  his  head  for  fidelity  to  Poland, 
he  should  behold  him  with  as  proud  an  eye  mounting  the 
scaffold  as  entering  the  streets  of  Warsaw  with  her  free- 
dom in  his  hand.  "The  only  difference  would  be,"  con- 
tinued Sobieski,  "that  as  the  first  cannot  happen  until  all 
virtue  be  dead  in  this  land,  I  should  regard  his  last  gasp 
as  the  expiring  sigh  of  that  virtue  which,  by  him,  had 
found  a  triumph  even  under  the  ax.  But  for  the  second, 
it  would  be  joy  unutterable  to  behold  the  victory  of  jus- 
tice over  rapine  and  violence!  But  either  way  Thaddeus 
Sobieski  is  still  the  same — ready  to  die  or  ready  to  live  for 
his  country,  and  equally  worthy  of  the  sacred  halo  with 
which  posterity  would  encircle  his  name  forever." 

Indeed,  the  accounts  which  arrived  from  this  young 
soldier,  who  had  formed  a  junction  with  General  Kos- 
ciusko, were  in  the  highest  degree  formidable  to  the 
coalesced  poAvers.  Having  gained  several  advantages  over 
the  Prussians,  the  two  victorious  battalions  were  advanc- 
ing toward  Inowlotz,  when  a  large  and  fresh  body  of  the 
enemy  appeared  suddenly  on  their  rear.  The  enemy  on 
the  opposite  bank  of  the  river  (whom  the  Poles  were 
driving  before  them),  at  sight  of  this  reenforcement, 
rallied;  and  not  only  to  retard  the  approach  of  the  pur- 
suers, but  to  insure  their  defeat  from  the  army  in  view, 
they  broke  down  the  wooden  bridge  by  which  they  had 
escaped  themselves.  The  Poles  were  at  a  stand.  Kos- 
ciusko proposed  swimming  across,  but  owing  to  the  recent 
heavy  rains,  the  river  was  so  swollen  and  rapid  that  the 
young  captains  to  whom  be  mentioned  the  project,  terri- 
fied by  the  blackness  and  dashing  of  the  water,  drow  bai  L 


Til  A 1)  D  E  US  OF  WA  RSA  W.  65 

The  general,  perceiving  their  panic,  called  Thaddens  to 
him,  and  both  plunged  into  the  stream.  Ashamed  of 
hesitation,  the  others  now  tried  who  could  first  follow 
their  example;  and,  after  hard  buffeting  with  its  tide,  the 
whole  army  gained  the  opposite  shore.  The  Prussians 
who  were  in  the  rear,  incapable  of  the  like  intrepidity, 
halted ;  and  those  who  had  crossed  on  their  former  defeat, 
now  again  intimidated  at  the  daring  courage  of  their  ad- 
versaries, concealed  themselves  amid  the  thickets  of  an 
adjoining  valle}'. 

The  two  friends  proceeded  toward  Cracow,*  carrying 
redress  and  protection  to  the  provinces  through  which 
they  marched.  But  they  had  hardly  rested  a  day  in  that 
city  before  dispatches  were  received  that  Warsaw  was 
lying  at  the  mercy  of  General  Brinicki.  No  time  could 
be  lost;  officers  and  men  had  set  their  lives  on  the  cause, 
and  they  recommenced  their  toil  of  a  new  march  with  a 
perseverance  which  brought  them  before  the  capital  on 
the  16th  of  April. 

Things  were  in  a  worse  state  than  even  was  expected. 
The  three  ambassadors  had  not  only  demanded  the  surren- 
der of  the  national  arsenal,  but  subscribed  their  orders 
with  a  threat  that  whoever  of  the  nobles  presumed  to  dis- 
pute their  authority  should  be  arrested  and  closely  im- 
prisoned there;  and  if  the  people  should  dare  to  murmur, 
they  would  immediately  order  General  Brinicki  to  lay  the 
city  in  ashes. 

The  king  remonstrated  against  such  oppression,  and  to 
"punish  his  presumption,"  his  excellency  ordered  that  his 
majesty's  garrison  and  guards  should  instantly  be  broken 
up  and  dispersed.  At  the  first  attempt  to  execute  this 
mandate,  the  people  flew  in  crowds  to  the  palace,  and, 
falling  on  their  knees,  implored  Stanislaus  for  permission 
to  avenge  the  insult  offered  to  his  troops.  The  king 
looked  at  them  with  pity,  gratitude,  and  anguish.  For 
some  time  his  emotions  were  too  strong  to  allow  him  to 
speak;  at  last,  in  a  voice  of  agony,  wrung  from  his 
tortured  heart,  he  answered,  "Go,  and  defend  your 
honor!" 


*  Cracow  is  considered  the  oldest  regal  city  in  Poland;  the  tombs 
of  her  earliest  and  noblest  kings  are  there,  John  Sobieski's  being  one 
of  the  most  renowned.  It  stands  in  a  province  of  the  same  name, 
about  one  hundred  and  thirty  miles  southwest  of  Warsaw,  the  more 
modern  capital  of  the  kingdom,  and  alee  the  center  of  its  own  pro*, 
faMA  . 


66  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

The  army  of  Kosciusko  marched  into  the  town  at  this 
critical  moment;  they  joined  the  armed  people;  and  that 
day,  after  a  dreadful  conflict,  Warsaw  was  rescued  from 
the  immediate  grasp  of  the  hovering  Black  Eagle.  Dur- 
ing the  fight,  the  king,  who  was  alone  in  one  of  the  rooms 
of  his  palace,  sank  in  despair  on  the  floor;  he  heard  the 
mingling  clash  of  arms,  the  roar  of  musketry,  and  the 
cries  and  groans  of  the  combatants;  ruin  seemed  no  longer 
to  threaten  his  kingdom,  but  to  have  pounced  at  once 
upon  her  prey.  At  every  renewed  volley  which  followed 
each  pause  in  the  firing,  he  expected  to  see  his  palace 
gates  burst  open,  and  himself,  then  indeed  made  a  willing 
sacrifice,  immolated  to  the  vengeance  of  his  enemies. 

While  he  was  yet  upon  his  knees  petitioning  the  God 
of  battles  for  a  little  longer  respite  from  that  doom  which 
was  to  overwhelm  devoted  Poland,  Thaddeus  Sobieski, 
panting  with  heat  and  toil,  flew  into  the  room,  and  before 
he  could  speak  a  word,  was  clasped  in  the  arms  of  the 
agitated  Stanislaus. 

"What  of  my  people?"  asked  the  king. 

"They  are  victorious!"'  returned  Thaddeus.     "The  for- 
eign guards  are  beaten  from  the  palace;  your  own  have  re 
sumed  their  station  at  the  gates." 

At  this  assurance,  tears  of  joy  ran  over  the  venerable 
cheeks  of  his  majesty,  and  again  embracing  his  young 
deliverer  he  exclaimed,  "I  thank  Heaven,  my  unhapp3r 
country  is  not  bereft  of  all  hope !  While  a  Kosciusko  and 
a  Sobieski  live,  she  need  not  quite  despair.  They  are  thy 
ministers,  0  Jehovah,  of  a  yet  longer  respite!" 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BATTLE  OF  BRZESC — THE  TENTH  OF  OCTOBER. 

Thaddeus  was  not  less  eager  to  release  his  grandfather 
than  he  had  been  to  relieve  the  anxiety  of  his  sovereign. 
He  hastened,  at  the  head  of  a  few  troops,  to  the  prison  of 
Sobieski,  and  gave  him  liberty,  amid  the  acclamations  of 
his  soldieiv. 

The  universal  joy  at  these  prosperous  events  did  not 
last  many  days:  it  was  speedily  terminated  by  information 
that  Cracow  had  surrendered  to  a  Prussian  force,  that  th© 


THAT) DEVS  OF  WARSAW.  07 

King  of  Prussia  was  advancing  toward  the  capital,  and 
Unit  the  Russians,  more  implacable  in  consequence  of  the 
late  treatment  their  garrison  had  received  at  Warsaw, 
were  pouring  into  the  country  like  a  deluge. 

At  this  intelligence  the  consternation  became  dreadful. 
The  Polonese  army  in  general,  worn  with  fatigue  and 
long  service,  and  without  clothing  or  ammunition,  were 
not  in  any  way,  excepting  courage,  fitted  for  resuming 
the  field. 

The  treasury  was  exhausted,  and  means  of  raising  a 
supplv  seemed"  impracticable.     The  provinces  were  laid 
waste,  and  the  city  had  already  been  drained  of  its  last 
ducat.     In  this   exigency  a  council  met  in  his  majesty's 
cabinet,  to  devise  some  expedient  for  obtaining  resources. 
The    consultation    was  as  desponding  as  their   situation, 
until  Thaddeus  Sobieski,  who  had  been  a  silent  observer, 
rose  from  his  seat.     Sudden  indisposition  had  prevented 
the  palatine  attending,  but  his  grandson  knew  well  how 
to  be  his  substitute.     While  blushes  of  awe  and  eagerness 
crimsoned  his  cheek,  he  advanced  toward  Stanislaus,  and 
taking  from   his  neck  and  other  parts  of  his  dress  those 
magnificent  jewels  it  was  customary  to  wear  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  king,  he  knelt  down,  and  laying  them  at  the 
feet  of  his  majesty,  said,  in  a  suppressed  voice:  "These  are 
trifles;  but  such  as  they  are,  and  all  of  the  like  kind  which 
we  possess,  I  am   commanded  by  my  grandfather  to  be- 
seech your  majesty  to  appropriate  to  the  public  service." 
"Noble  young  man!"  cried  the  king,  raising  him  from 
the   ground;  "you   have   indeed   taught   me  a  lesson.     I 
accept  these  jewels  with  gratitude.     Here,"  said  he,  turn- 
ing to  the  treasurer,  "put  them  into  the  national  fund, 
and  let  them  be  followed  by  my  own,  with  my  gold  ami 
silver  plate,  which  latter  I  desire  may  be  instantly  sent  to 
the  mint.     Three  parts  the  army  shad  have;  the  other  we 
must  expend  in  giving  support  to  the  surviving  families 
of  the  brave  men  who  have  fallen  in  our  defense."     The 
palatine  readily  united  with  his  grandson  in  the  surrender 
of   all    their    personal   property   for   the   benefit  of  their 
country;  and,  according  to  their  example,   the  treasury 
was  soon  filled  with  gratuities  from  the  nobles.     The  very 
artisans   offered  their  services  gratis;  and  all  hands  being 
enployed  to  forward  the  preparations,  the  army  was  soon 
enabled   to   take   the   field,  newly  equipped  and   in   high 
spirits. 


G8  TBADDRV8  OF  WARSAW. 

The  countess  had  again  to  bid  adieu  to  a  son  who  was 
now  become  as  much  the  object  of  her  admiration  as  of 
her  love.  In  proportion  as  glory  surrounded  him  and 
danger  courted  his  steps,  the  strings  of  affection  drew  him 
closer  to  her  soul;  the  ; 'aspiring  blood"  of  the  Sobieskis 
which  beat  in  her  veins  could  not  cheer  the  dread  of  a 
mother,  could  not  cause  her  to  forget  that  the  spring  of 
her  existence  now  flowed  from  the  fountain  which  had 
taken  its  source  from  her.  Her  anxious  and  watching 
heart  paid  dearly  in  tears  and  sleepless  nights  for  the 
honor  with  which  she  was  saluted  at  every  turning  as  the 
mother  of  Thaddeus:  that  Thaddeus  who  was  not  more 
the  spirit  of  enterprise,  and  the  rallying-point  of  resist- 
ance, than  he  was  to  her  the  gentlest,  the  dearest,  the 
most  amiable  of  sons.  It  matters  not  to  the  undis- 
tinguishing  bolt  of  carnage  whether  it  strike  the  com- 
mon breasts  or  those  rare  hearts  whose  lives  are  usually  as 
brief  as  they  are  dazzling;  this  leaden  messenger  of  death 
banquets  as  greedily  on  the  bosom  of  a  hero  as  if  it  had  lit 
upon  more  vulgar  prey;  all  is  leveled  to  the  seeming 
chance  of  war,  which  comes  like  a  whirlwind  of  the 
desert,  scattering  man  and  beast  in  one  wide  ruin. 

Such  thoughts  as  these  possessed  the  melancholy  but 
prayerful  reveries  of  the  Countess  Sobieski,  from  the  hour 
in  which  she  saw  Thaddeus  and  his  grandfather  dejjart 
for  Cracow  until  she  heard  it  was  retaken,  and  that  the 
enemy  were  defeated  in  several  subsequent  contests. 
AVarsaw  was  again  bombarded,  and  again  Kosciusko,  with 
the  palatine  and  Thaddeus,  preserved  it  from  destruction. 
In  short,  wherever  they  moved,  their  dauntless  little  army 
carried  terror  to  its  adversaries,  and  diffused  hope  through 
the  homes  and  hearts  of  their  countrymen. 

They  next  turned  their  course  to  the  relief  of  Lith- 
uania; but  while  they  were  on  their  route  thither,  they 
received  intelligence  that  a  division  of  the  Poles,  led  by 
Prince  Poniatowski,  having  been  routed  by  a  formidable 
body  of  Russians  under  Suwarrow,  that"  general,  elated 
with  his  success,  was  hastening  forward  to  reattack  the 
capital. 

Kosciusko,  resolved  to  prevent  him,  prepared  to  give 
immediate  battle  to  Ferfen,  another  Russian  commander, 
who  was  on  his  inarch  to  form  a  junction  with  his  vic- 
torious countrymen.     To  this  end  Kosciusko  divided  his 


THABDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  69 

forces;  half  oi  them  to  not  only  snpport  the  retreat  of 
the  prince,  but  to  enable  him  to  hover  near  Suwarrow, 
and  to  keep  a  watchful  eye  over  his  motions;  while  Kos- 
ciusko, accompanied  by  the  two  Sobieskis,  would  proceed 
with  the  other  division  toward  Brezsc. 

It  was  the  10th  of  October.  The  weather  being  fine, 
a  cloudless  sun  diffused  life  and  brilliancy  through  the 
pure  air  of  a  keen  morning.  The  vast  green  plain  before 
them  glittered  with  the  troops  of  General  Ferfen,  who 
had  already  arranged  them  in  order  of  battle.  The  word 
was  given.  Thaddeus,  as  he  drew  his  saber*  from  its 
scabbard,  raised  his  eyes  to  implore  the  justice  of  Heaven 
on  that  day's  events.  The  attack  was  made.  The  Poles 
kept  their  station  on  the  heights.  The  Russians  rushed 
on  them  like  wolves,  and  twice  they  repulsed  them  by 
their  steadiness.  Conquest  declared  for  Poland.  Thad- 
deus was  seen  in  every  part  of  the  field.  But  reinforce- 
ments poured  in  to  the  support  of  Ferfen,  and  war  raged 
in  new  horrors.  Still  the  courage  of  the  Poles  was  un- 
abated. Sobieski,  fighting  at  the  head  of  his  cavalry, 
would  not  recede  a  foot,  and  Kosciusko,  exhorting  his 
men  to  be  resolute,  appeared  in  the  hottest  places  of  the 
battle. 

At  one  of  these  portentous  moments,  the  commander- 
in-chief  was  seen  struggling  with  the  third  charger  which 
had  been  shot  under  him  that  day.  Thaddeus  galloped 
to  his  assistance,  gave  him  his  horse,  mounted  another 
offered  by  a  hussar,  and  remained  fighting  by  his  side, 
till,  on  the  next  charge,  Kosciusko  himself  fell  forward. 
Thaddeus  caught  him  in  his  arms,  and  finding  that  his 
own  breast  was  immediately  covered  with  blood  (a  Cos- 
sack having  stabbed  the  general  through  the  shoulder),  he 
unconsciously  uttered  a  cry  of  horror.  The  surrounding 
soldiers  took  the  alarm,  and  "Kosciusko,  our  father,  is 
killed!"  was  echoed  from  rank  to  rank  with  such  piercing 
shrieks   that  the  wounded  hero  started  from  the  breast  of 

*  The  saber  (like  the  once  famed  claymore  of  Scotland)  was  the 
characteristic  weapon  of  Poland.  It  was  the  especial  appendage  to 
the  sides  of  the  nobles — its  use,  the  science  of  their  youth,  their 
ornament  and  graceful  exercise  in  peace,  their  most  efficient  manual 
power  of  attack  or  defense  in  war.  It  is  impossible  for  any  but  an 
eye-witness  to  have  any  idea  of  the  skill,  beauty,  and  determination 
with  which  this  weapon  was,  and  is,  wielded  in  Poland. 


70  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

his  young  friend  just  as  two  Russian  chasseurs  in  the 
same  moment  made  a  cut  at  them  both.  The  saber 
struck  the  exposed  head  of  Kosciusko,  who  sank  senseless 
to  the  ground,  and  Thaddeus  received  a  gash  near  his 
neck  that  laid  him  by  his  side. 

The  consternation  became  universal;  groans  of  despair 
seemed  to  issue  from  the  whole  army,  while  the  few  reso- 
lute Poles  who  had  been  stationed  near  the  fallen  general 
fell  in  mangled  heaps  upon  his  breast.  Thaddeus  with 
difficulty  extricated  himself  from  the  bodies  of  the  slain; 
and,  fighting  his  way  through  the  triumphant  troops 
which  pressed  around  him,  amid  the  smoke  and  confusion 
soon  joined  his  terror-stricken  comrades,  who  in  the 
wildest  despair  were  dispersing  under  a  heavy  fire,  and 
flying  like  frightened  deer.  In  vain  he  called  to  them — 
in  vain  he  urged  them  to  avenge  Kosciusko;  the  panic 
was  complete,  and  they  fled. 

Almost  alone,  in  the  rear  of  his  soldiers,  he  opposed 
with  his  single  and  desperate  arm  party  after  party  of  the 
enemy,  until  a  narrow  stream  of  the  Muchavez  stopped 
his  retreat.  The  waters  were  crimsoned  with  blood.  He 
plunged  in,  and  beating  the  blushing  wave  with  his  left 
arm,  in  a  few  seconds  gained  the  opposite  bank,  where, 
fainting  from  fatigue  and  loss  of  blood,  he  sank,  almost 
deprived  of  sense,  amid  a  heap  of  the  killed. 

When  the  pursuing  squadrons  had  galloped  past  him, 
he  again  summoned  strength  to  look  around.  He  raised 
himself  from  the  ground,  and  by  the  help  of  his  saber 
supported  his  steps  a  few  paces  further;  but  what  was  the 
shock  he  received  when  the  bleeding  and  lifeless  body  of 
his  grandfather  lay  before  him?  He  stood  for  a  few 
moments  motionless  and  without  sensation;  then,  kneel- 
ing down  by  his  side,  while  he  felt  as  if  his  own  heart' 
were  palsied  with  death,  he  searched  for  the  wounds  of 
the  palatine.  They  were  numerous  and  deep.  He  would 
have  torn  away  the  handkerchief  with  which  he  had 
stanched  his  own  blood  to  have  applied  it  to  that  of  his 
grandfather;  but  in  the  instant  he  was  so  doing,  feeling 
the  act  might  the  next  moment  disable  himself  from  giv- 
ing him  further  assistance,  he  took  his  sash  and  neck- 
cloth, and  when  they  were  insufficient,  he  rent  the  linen 
from  his  breast;  then  hastening  to  the  river,  he  brought 
a  little  water  in  his  cap,  an*1  threw  some  of  its  stained 
drops  on  the  pale  features  oi  &obiusJy. 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  71 

The  venerable  hero  openod  his  eyes;  in  a  minute  after- 
ward lie  recognized  that  it  was  his  grandson  who  knelt  by 
him.  The  palatine  pressed  his  hand,  which  was  cold  as 
ice:  the  marble  lips  of  Thaddeus  could  not  move. 

"My  son,"  said  the  veteran  in  a  low  voice,  "Heaven 
hath  led  you  hither  to  receive  the  last  sigh  of  your  grand- 
father." Thaddeus  trembled.  The  palatine  continued: 
"Carry  my  blessing  to  your  mother,  and  bid  her  seek 
comfort  in  the  consolations  of  her  God.  May  that  God 
preserve  you!  Ever  remember  that  you  are  his  servant; 
be  obedient  to  him ;  and  as  I  have  been,  be  faithful  to 
your  country." 

"May  God  so  bless  me!"  cried  Thaddeus,  looking  up  to 
heaven. 

"And  ever  remember,"  said  the  palatine,  raising  his 
head,  which  had  dropped  on  the  bosom  of  his  grandson, 
"that  you  are  a  Sobieski !  it  is  my  dying  command  that 
you  never  take  any  other  name." 

"I  promise." 

Thaddeus  could  say  no  more,  for  the  countenance  of 
his  grandfather  became  altered;  his  eyes  closed.  Thad- 
deus caught  him  to  his  breast.  No  heart  beat  against 
his;  all  was  still  and  cold.  The  body  dropped  from  his 
arms,  and  he  sank  senseless  by  its  side. 

When  consciousness  returned  to  him  he  looked  up. 
The  sky  was  shrouded  in  clouds,  which  a  driving  wind 
was  blowing  from  the  orb  of  the  moon,  while  a  few  of  her 
white  rays  gleamed  sepulchrally  on  the  weapons  of  the 
slaughtered  soldiers. 

The  scattered  senses  of  Thaddeus  gradually  returned  to 
him.  He  was  now  lying,  the  only  living  creature  amid 
thousands  of  the  dead  who,  with  the  preceding  night,  had 
been,  like  himself,  alive  to  all  the  consciousness  of  exist- 
ence! His  right  hand  rested  on  the  pale  face  of  his 
grandfather.  It  was  wet  with  dew.  He  shuddered. 
Taking  his  own  cloak  from  his  shoulders,  he  laid  it  over 
the  body.  He  would  have  said,  as  he  did  it,  "So,  my 
father,  I  would  have  sheltered  thy  life  with  my  own!" 
but  the  words  choked  in  his  throat,  and  he  sat  watching 
by  the  corpse  until  the  day  dawned,  and  the  Poles  re- 
turned to  bury  their  slain. 

The  wretched  Thaddeus  was  discovered  by  a  party  of 
his  own  hussars  seated  on  a  little  mound  of  earth,  with  the 


72  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

cold  hand  of  Sobicski  grasped  in  his.  At  this  sight  the 
soldiers  uttered  a  cry  of  dismay  and  sorrow.  Thaddeus 
rose  up.  "My  friends,"  said  he,  "I  thank  God  that  you 
are  come !     Assist  me  to  bear  my  dear  grandfather  to  the 


>j 


camp. 

Astonished  at  this  composure,  but  distressed  at  the 
dreadful  hue  of  his  countenance,  they  obeyed  him  in 
mournful  silence,  and  laid  the  remains  of  the  palatine 
upon  a  bier,  which  they  formed  with  their  sheathe^ 
sabers;  then  gently  raising  it,  they  retrod  their  steps,  to 
the  camp,  leaving  a  detachment  to  accomplish  the  duty 
for  which  they  had  quitted  it.  Thaddeus,  hardly  able  to 
support  his  weakened  frame,  mounted  a  horse  and  fol- 
lowed the  melancholy  procession. 

General  Wawrzecki,  on  whom  the  command  had  de- 
volved, seeing  the  party  returning  so  soon,  and  in  such 
an  order,  sent  an  aid-de-camp  to  inquire  the  reason.  He 
came  back  with  dejection  in  his  face,  and  informed  his 
commander  that  the  brave  Palatine  of  Masovia,  who 
they  supposed  had  been  taken  prisoner  with  his  grandson 
and  Kosciusko,  was  the  occasion  of  this  sudden  return; 
that  he  had  been  killed,  and  his  body  was  now  approach- 
ing the  Hues  on  the  arms  of  the  soldiers.  Wawrzecki, 
though  glad  to  hear  that  Thaddeus  was  alive  and  at  lib- 
erty, turned  to  conceal  his  tears;  then  calling  out  a  guard, 
he  marched  at  their  head  to  meet  the  corpse  of  his  illus- 
trious friend. 

The  bier  was  carried  into  the  general's  tent.  An  aid- 
de-camp  and  some  gentlemen  of  the  faculty  were  ordered 
to  attend  Thaddeus  to  his  quarters;  but  the  young  count, 
though  scarcely  able  to  stand,  appeared  to  linger,  and 
holding  fast  by  the  arm  of  an  officer,  he  looked  steadfastly 
on  the  body.  Wawrzecki  understood  his  hesitation.  He 
pressed  his  hand.  "Fear  not,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he; 
"every  honor  shall  be  paid  to  the  remains  of  your  noble 
grandfather."  Thaddeus  bowed  his  head,  and  was  sup- 
ported out  of  the  tent  to  his  own.  His  wounds,  of  which 
he  had  received  several,  were  not  deep,  and  might  have 
been  of  little  consequence,  had  not  his  thoughts  continu- 
ally hovered  about  his  mother,  and  painted  her  affliction 
when  she  should  be  informed  of  the  lamentable  events  of 
the  last  day's  battle.  These  reflections,  awake  or  in  a 
sluml^r   (for  he  never   slept),  possessed  his  mind,  and, 


777.1  DDKV8  OF  WA R8A  W.  73 

even   while  his   wounds   wore  healing,  produced  such  an 
irritation  in  his  blood  as  hourly  threatened  a  fever. 

Things  were  in  this  situation,  when  the  surgeon  put  a 
letter  from  the  countess  into  his  hand.  He  opened  it, 
and  read  with  breathless  anxiety  these  lines: 

"To  Thaddeus,  Couxt  Sobieski: 

"Console  yourself,  my  most  precious  son,  console  your- 
self for  my  sake.  I  have  seen  Colonel  Lonza,  and  I  have 
heard  all  the  horrors  which  took  place  on  the  10th  of 
this  month.  I  have  heard  them,  and  I  am  yet  alive.  I 
am  resigned.  He  tells  me  you  are  wounded.  Oh!  do 
not  let  me  be  bereft  of  my  son  also!  Remember  that  you 
were  my  dear  sainted  father's  darling;  remember  that,  as 
his  representative,  you  are  to  be  my  consolation ;  in  pity 
to  me,  if  not  to  our  suffering  country,  preserve  yourself 
to  be  at  least  the  last  comfort  Heaven's  mercy  hath  spared 
to  me.  I  find  that  all  is  lost  to  Poland  as  well  as  to  my- 
self! that  when  my  glorious  father  fell,  and  his  friend 
with  him,  even  its  name,  as  a  country,  became  extinct. 
The  allied  invaders  are  in  full  march  toward  Masovia, 
and  I  am  too  weak  to  come  to  you.  Let  me  see  you  soon, 
very  soon,  my  beloved  son.  I  beseech  you  to  come  to  me. 
You  will  find  me  feebler  in  body  than  in  mind;  for  there 
is  a  holy  Comforter  that  descends  on  the  bruised  heart, 
which  none  other  than  the  unhappy  have  conceived  or 
felt.  Farewell,  my  dear,  dear  Thaddeus!  Let  the  mem- 
ory that  you  have  a  mother  check  your  too  ardent  courage. 
God  forever  guard  you !  Live  for  your  mother,  who  has 
no  stronger  words  to  express  her  affection  for  you  than 
she  is  thy  mother — thy 

"Thekese  Sobieski. 

"  Villanow,  October,  1794." 

This  letter  was  indeed  a  balm  to  the  soul  of  Thaddeus. 
That  his  mother  had  received  intelligence  of  the  cruel 
event  with  such  "holy  resignation"  was  the  best  medicine 
that  could  now  be  applied  to  his  wounds,  both  of  mind 
and  body:  and  when  he  was  told  that  on  the  succeeding 
morning  tne  body  of  his  grandfather  would  be  removed  to 
the  convent  near  Biala,  he  declared  his  resolution  to  at- 
tend it  to  the  grave. 

In  vain  his  surgeons  and  General  "Wawrzecki  remon- 


74  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

.  strated  against  the  danger  of  this  project;  for  once  the 
gentle  and  yielding  spirit  of  Thaddeus  was  inflexible. 
He  had  fixed  his  determination,  and  it  was  not  to  be 
shaken. 

Next  day,  being  the  seventh  from  that  in  which  the 
fatal  battle  had  been  decided,  Thaddeus,  at  the  first  beat 
of  the  drum,  rose  from  his  pallet,  and,  almost  unassisted, 
put  on  his  clothes.  His  uniform  being  black,  he  needed 
no  other  index  than  his  pale  and  mournful  countenance 
to  announce  that  he  was  chief  mourner. 

The  procession  began  to  form,  and  he  walked  from  his 
tent.  It  was  a  fine  morning.  Thaddeus  looked  up,  as  if 
to  upbraid  the  sun  for  shining  so  brightly.  Lengthened 
and  repeated  rounds  of  cannon  rolled  along  the  air.  The 
solemn  march  of  the  dead  was  moaning  from  the  muffled 
drum,  interrupted  at  measured  pauses  by  the  shrill  tremor 
of  the  fife.  The  troops,  preceded  by  their  general,  moved 
forward  with  a  decent  and  melancholy  step.  The  Bishop 
of  Warsaw  followed,  bearing  the  sacred  volume  in  his 
hands;  and  next,  borne  upon  the  crossed  pikes  of  his 
soldiers,  and  supported  by  twelve  of  his  veteran  compan- 
ions, appeared  the  body  of  the  brave  Sobieski.  A  velvet 
pari  covered  it,  on  which  were  laid  those  arms  with  which 
for  fifty  years  he  had  asserted  the  loyal  independence  of 
his  country.  At  this  sight  the  sobs  of  the  men  became 
audible.  Thaddeus  followed  with  a  slow  but  firm  step, 
his  eyes  bent  to  the  ground  and  his  arms  wrapped  in  his 
cloak;  it  was  the  same  which  had  shaded  his  beloved 
grandfather  from  the  dews  of  that  dreadful  night.  An- 
other train  of  solemn  music  succeeded;  and  then  the 
squadrons  which  the  deceased  had  commanded  dis- 
mounted, and,  leading  their  horses,  closed  the  proces- 
sion. 

On  the  verge  of  the  plain  that  borders  Biala,  and 
within  a  few  paces  of  the  convent  gate  of  St.  Francis,  the 
bier  stopped.  The  monks  saluted  its  appearance  with  a 
requiem,  which  they  continued  to  chant  till  the  coffin  was 
lowered  into  the  ground.  The  earth  received  its  sacred 
deposit.  The  anthems  ceased;  the  soldiers,  kneeling 
down,  discharged  their  muskets  over  it;  then,  with 
streaming  cheeks,  rose  and  gave  place  to  others.  Nine 
volleys  were  fired,  and  the  ranks  fell  back.  The  bishop 
advanced  to  the  head  of  the  grave.     All  was  hushed.     He 


THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  75 

raised  his  eyes  to  heaven;  then,  after  a  pause,  in  which 
he  seemed  to  he  communing  with  the  regions  above  him, 
he  turned  to  the  silent  assembly,  and  in  a  voice  collected 
and  impressive  addressed  them  in  a  short  but  affecting 
oration,  in  Avhich  he  set  forth  the  brightness  of  Sobieski's 
life,  his  noble  forgetfulness  of  self  in  the  interests  of  his 
country,  and  the  dauntless  bravery  which  laid  him  in  the 
dust.  A  general  discharge  of  cannon  was  the  awful  re- 
sponse to  this  appeal.  AVawrzecki  took  the  saber  of  the 
palatine,  and  breaking  it  dropped  it  into  the  grave.  The 
aids-de-camp  of  the  deceased  did  the  same  with  theirs, 
showing  that  by  so  doing  they  resigned  their  offices;  and 
then,  covering  their  faces  with  their  handkerchiefs,  they 
turned  away  with  the  soldiers,  who  filed  off.  Thaddeug 
sank  on  his  knees.  His  hands  were  clasped,  and  his  eyes 
for  a  few  minutes  fixed  themselves  on  the  coffin  of  his 
grandfather;  then  rising,  he  leaned  on  the  arm  of  Wawr- 
zecki,  and  with  a  tottering  step  and  pallid  countenance, 
mounted  his  horse,  which  had  been  led  to  the  spot,  and 
returned  with  the  scattered  procession  to  the  camp. 

The  cause  for  exertion  being  over,  his  spirits  fell  with 
the  rapidity  of  a  spring  too  highly  wound  up,  which  snaps 
and  runs  down  to  immobility.  He  entered  his  tent  and 
threw  himself  on  the  bed,  from  which  he  did  not  rise  for 
the  five  following  days. 


CHAPTEE    IX. 

THE   LAST    DATS   OF   VILLANOW. 

At  a  time  when  the  effects  of  these  sufferings  and 
fatigues  had  wrought  his  bodily  strength  to  its  lowest  ebb, 
the  young  Count  Sobieski  was  roused  by  information  that 
the  Russians  had  planted  themselves  before  Praga,  and 
were  preparing  to  bombard  the  town.  The  intelligence, 
nerved  his  heart's  sinews  again,  and  rallied  the  spirits 
also  of  his  depressed  soldiers,  who  energetically  obeyed 
their  commander  to  put  themselves  in  readiness  to  march 
at  set  of  sun. 

Thaddeus  saw  that  the  decisive  hour  was  pending. 
Ami  as  the  moon  rose,  though  hardly  able  to  sit  his  noble 


7G  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

charger,  he  refused  the  indulgence  of  a  litter,  determining, 
that  no  illness,  while  he  had  any  power  to  master  its 
disabilities,  should  make  him  recede  from  his  duty.  The 
image  of  his  mother,  too,  so  near  the  threatened  spot, 
rushed  on  his  soul.  In  quick  march  he  led  on  his  troops. 
Devastation  met  them  over  the  face  of  the  country. 
Scared  and  houseless  villagers  were  flying  in  every  direc- 
tion; old  men  stood  among  the  ashes  of  their  homes,  wail- 
ing to  the  pitying  heavens,  since  man  had  none.  Chil- 
dren and  women  sat  by  the  waysides,  weeping  over  the 
last  sustenance  the  wretched  infants  drew  from  the  breasts 
of  their  perishing  mothers. 

Thaddeus  shut  his  eyes  on  the  scene. 

"Oh,  my  country!  my  country!"  exclaimed  he;  "what 
are  my  personal  griefs  to  thine?  It  is  your  afflictions 
that  barb  me  to  the  heart!  Look  there,"  cried  he  to  the 
soldiers,  pointing  to  the  miserable  spectacles  before  him; 
"look  there,  and  carry  vengeance  into  the  breasts  of  their 
destroyers.     Let  Praga  be  the  last  act  of  this  tragedy." 

Unhappy  young  man!  unfortunate  country!  It  was 
indeed  the  last  act  of  a  tragedy  to  which  all  Europe  were 
spectators — a  tragedy  which  the  nations  witnessed  with- 
out one  attempt  to  stop  or  to  delay  its  dreadful  catastrophe ! 
Oh,  how  must  virtue  be  lost  when  it  is  no  longer  a  matter 
of  policy  even  to  assume  it!* 

After  a  long  march  through  a  dark  and  dismal  night, 
the  morning  began  to  break;  and  Thaddeus  found  him- 
self on  the  southern  side  of  that  little  river  which  divides 
the  territories  of  Sobieski  from  the  woods  of  Kobylka. 
Here,  for  the  first  time,  he  endured  all  the  torturing 
varieties  of  despair. 

The  once  fertile  fields  were  burned  to  stubble;  the  cot- 
tages were  yet  smoking  from  the  ravages  of  the  fire;  and 
in  place  of  smiling  eyes  and  thankful  lips  coming  to  meet 
him,  he  beheld  the  dead  bodies  of  his  peasants  stretched 
on   the   high-roads,  mangled,   bleeding,  and   stripped   of 

*  To  answer  this,  we  must  remember  that  Europe  was  then  no 
longer  what  she  was  a  century  before.  Almost  all  her  nations  had 
turned  from  the  doctrines  of  "  sound  things,"  and  more  or  less  drank 
deeply  of  the  cup  of  infidelity,  drugged  for  them  by  the  flattering 
sophistries  of  Voltaire.  The  draught  was  inebriation,  and  the  wild 
consequences  burst  asunder  the  responsibilities  of  man  to  man.  The 
selfish  principle  ruled,  and  balance  of  justice  was  then  «ffti  only 
»lr>ft  »n  tht  heavens! 


THADDEUS  OF  WAR8A  W.  77 

that  decent  covering  which  humanity  would  not  deny  td 
the  vilest  criminal. 

Thaddeus  could  bear  the  sight  no  longer,  but,  setting 
spurs  to  his  horse,  fled  from  the  contemplation  of  scenes 
which  harrowed  up  his  soul. 

At  nightfall,  the  army  halted  under  the  walls  of  Vil- 
lanow.  The  count  looked  toward  the  windows  of  the 
palace,  and  by  a  light  shining  through  the  half-drawn 
curtains,  distinguished  his  mother's  room.  He  then 
turned  his  eye  on  that  sweep  of  building  which  con- 
tained the  palatine's  apartments;  but  not  one  solitary 
lamp  illumined  its  gloom:  the  moon  alone  glimmered  on 
the  battlements,  silvering  the  painted  glass  of  the  study 
window,  where,  with  that  beloved  parent,  he  had  so  lately 
gazed  upon  the  stars,  and  anticipated  with  the  most  san- 
guine hopes  the  result  of  the  campaign  which  had  now 
terminated  so  disastrously  for  his  unhappy  country. 

But  these  thoughts,  with  his  grief  and  his  forebodings, 
were  buried  in  the  depths  of  his  determined  heart.  Ad- 
dressing General  Wawrzecki,  he  bade  him  welcome  to 
Villanow,  requesting  at  the  same  time  that  his  men  might 
be  directed  to  rest  till  morning,  and  that  he  and  the 
officers  would  take  their  refreshment  within  the  palace. 

As  soon  as  Thaddeus  had  seen  his  guests  seated  at 
different  tables  in  the  eating-hall,  and  had  given  orders 
for  the  soldiers  to  be  served  from  the  buttery  and  cellars, 
he  withdrew  to  seek  the  countess.  He  found  her  in  her 
chamber,  surrounded  by  the  attendants  who  had  just  in- 
formed her  of  his  arrival.  The  moment  he  appeared  at 
the  room  door,  the  women  went  out  at  an  opposite  pas- 
sage, and  Thaddeus,  with  a  bursting  heart,  threw  himself 
on  the  bosom  of  his  mother.  They  were  silent  for  some 
time.  Poignant  recollection  stopped  their  utterance;  but 
neither  tears  nor  sighs  filled  its  place,  until  the  countess, 
on  whose  soul  the  full  tide  of  maternal  affection  pressed, 
and  mingled  with  her  grief,  raised  her  head  from  her  eon's 
neck,  and  said,  while  she  strained  him  in  her  arms:  "Ke- 
ceive  my  thanks,  0  Father  of  mercy,  for  having  spared  to 
me  this  blessing!" 

Thaddeus  Sobieski  (all  that  now  remained  of  that 
beloved  and  honored  name!)  with  a  sacred  emotion 
breathed  a  response  to  the  address  of  his  mother,  and 
drying  her  tears  with  his  kisses,  dwelt  upon  the  never- 


78  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

dying  fame  of  his  revered  grandfather,  npon  his  prefera« 
ble  lot  to  that  of  their  brave  friend  Kosciusko,  who  was 
doomed  not  only  to  survive  the  liberty  of  his  country,  but 
to  pass  the  residue  of  his  life  within  the  dungeons  of  his 
enemies.  He  then  tried  to  reanimate  her  spirits  with 
hope.  He  spoke  of  the  approaching  battle,  without  anv 
doubt  of  the  valor  and  desperation  of  the  Poles  rendering 
it  successful.  He  talked  of  the  resolution  of  their  leader, 
General  Wawrzecki,  and  of  his  own  good  faith  in  the  jus- 
tice of  their  cause.  His  discourse  began  in  a  wish  to 
cheat  her  into  tranquillity;  but  as  he  advanced  on  the 
subject,  his  soul  took  fire  at  its  own  warmth,  and  he  half- 
believed  the  probability  of  his  anticipations. 

The  countess  looked  on  the  honorable  glow  which 
crimsoned  his  harassed  features  with  a  pang  at  her  heart. 

"My  heroic  son!"  cried  she,  "my  darling  Thaddeus! 
what  a  vast  price  do  I  pay  for  all  this  excellence !  I 
could  not  love  you  were  you  otherwise  than  what  you  are; 
and  lining  what  you  are,  ob,  how  soon  may  I  lose  you! 
Already  has  your  noble  grandfather  paid  the  debt  which 
he  owed  to  his  glory.  He  promised  to  fall  with  Poland; 
he  has  kept  his  word ;  and  now,  all  that  I  love  on  earth  is 
concentrated  in  you."  The  countess  paused,  and  press- 
ing his  hand  almost  wildly  on  her  heart,  she  continued  in 
a  hurried  voice:  "The  same  spirit  is  in  }rour  breast;  the 
same  principle  binds  you;  and  I  may  be  at  last  left  alone. 
Heaven  have  pity  on  me!" 

She  cast  her  eyes  upward  as  she  ended.  Thaddeus, 
sinking  on  his  knees  by  her  side,  implored  her  with  all 
the  earnestness  of  piety  and  confidence  to  take  comfort. 
The  countess  embraced  him  with  a  forced  smile.  "You 
must  forgive  me,  Thaddeus;  I  have  nothing  of  the  soldier 
in  my  heart;  it  is  all  woman.  But  I  will  not  detain  you 
longer  from  the  rest  you  require;  go  to  your  room,  and 
try  and  recruit  yourself  for  the  dangers  to-morrow  will 
bring  forth.  I  shall  employ  the  night  in  prayers  for  your 
safety.'' 

Consoled  to  see  any  composure  in  his  mother,  he  with- 
drew, and  after  having  heard  that  his  numerous  guests 
were  properly  lodged,  went  to  his  own  chamber. 

Next  morning  at  sunrise  the  troops  prepared  to  march. 
General  Wawrzecki,  with  his  officers,  begged  permission 
to  pay  their  personal  gratitude  to   the   countess  for  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  79 

hospitality  of  her  reception;  but  she  declined  the  honor, 
on  the  plea  of  indisposition.  In  the  course  of  an  hour, 
her  son  appeared  from  her  apartment  and  joined  the 
general. 

The  soldiers  filed  off  through  the  gates,  crossed  the 
bridge,  and  halted  under  the  walls  of  Praga.  The  lines 
of  the  camp  were  drawn  and  fortified  before  evening,  at 
which  time  they  found  leisure  to  observe  the  enemy's 
strength. 

Russia  seemed  to  have  exhausted  her  wide  regions  to 
people  the  narrow  shores  of  the  Vistula;  from  east  to 
west,  as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach,  her  arms  were 
stretched  to  the  horizon.  Sobieski  looked  at  them,  and 
then  on  the  handful  of  intrepid  iiearts  contained  in  the 
small  circumference  of  the  Polish  camp.  Sighing  heavily, 
he  retired  into  his  tent;  and  vainly  seeking  repose,  mixed 
his  short  and  startled  slumbers  with  frequent  prayers  for 
the  preservation  of  these  last  victims  to  their  country. 

The  hours  appeared  to  stand  still.  Several  times  he 
rose  from  his  bed  and  went  to  the  door,  to  see  whether 
the  clouds  were  tinged  with  any  appearance  of  dawn.  All 
continued  dark.  He  again  returned  to  his  marquee,  and 
standing  by  the  lamp,  which  was  nearly  exhausted,  took 
out  his  watch,  and  tried  to  distinguish  the  points;  but 
finding  that  the  lign*^  burned  too  feebly,  he  was  pressing 
the  repeating  spring,  vhich  struck  five,  when  the  report 
of  a  single  musket  made  him  start. 

He  flew  to  his  tent  door,  and  looking  around,  saw  that 
all  near  his  quarter  wras  at  rest.  Suspecting  it  to  be  a 
signal  of  the  enemy,  he  hurried  toward  the  intrenchments, 
but  found  the  sentinels  in  perfect  security  from  any  fears 
respecting  the  sound,  as  they  supposed  it  to  have  pro- 
ceeded from  the  town. 

Sobieski  paid  little  attention  to  their  opinions,  but  as- 
cending the  nearest  bastion  to  take  a  wider  survey,  in  a 
few  minutes  he  discerned,  though  obscurely,  through  the 
gleams  of  morning,  what  appeared  to  be  the  whole  host  of 
Russia  advancing  in  profound  silence  toward  the  Polish 
lines.  The  instant  he  made  this  discovery,  he  came 
down,  and  lost  no  time  in  giving  orders  for  the  defense; 
then  flying  to  other  parts  of  the  camp,  he  awakened  the 
commander-in-chief,  encouraged  the  men,  and  saw  that 
the  whole  encampment  was  not  only  in  motion,  but  pre- 
pared for  the  assault^ 


80  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

In  consequence  of  these  prompt  Arrangements,  the  as- 
sailants were  received  with  a  cross-fire  of  the  batteries, 
and  case-shot  and  musketry  from  several  redoubts,  which 
raked  their  flanks  as  they  advanced.  But  in  defiance  of 
this  shower  of  bullets,  they  pressed  on  with  an  intrepidity 
worthy  of  a  better  cause,  and  overleaping  the  ditch  by 
squadrons,  entered  the  camp.  A  passage  once  secured, 
the  Cossacks  rushed  in  by  thousands,  and  spreading  them- 
selves in  front  of  the  storming  party  put  every  soul  to 
the  spear  who  opposed  them. 

The  Polish  works  being  gained,  the  enemy  turned  the 
cannon  on  its  former  masters,  and  as  they  rallied  to  the 
defense  of  what  remained,  swept  them  down  by  whole 
regiments.  The  noise  of  artillery  thundered  from  all 
sides  of  the  camp;  the  smoke  was  so  great  that  it  was 
hardly  possible  to  distinguish  friends  from  foes;  never- 
theless, the  spirits  of  the  Poles  flagged  not  a  moment;  as 
fast  as  one  rampart  was  wrested  from  them,  they  threw 
themselves  within  another,  which  was  as  speedily  taken 
by  the  help  of  hurdles,  fascines,  ladders,  and  a  courage  as 
resistless  as  it  was  ferocious,  merciless,  and  sanguinary. 
Every  spot  of  vantage  position  was  at  length  lost;  and  yet 
the  Poles  fought  like  lions;  quarter  was  neither  offered  to 
them  nor  required;  they  disputed  every  inch  of  ground, 
until  they  fell  upon  it  in  heaps,  some  lying  before  the 
parapets,  others  filling  the  ditches,  and  the  rest  covering 
the  earth,  for  the  enemy  to  tread  on  as  they  cut  their 
passage  to  the  heart  of  the  camp. 

Sobieski,  almost  maddened  by  the  scene,  dripping  with 
his  own  blood  ami  that  of  his  brave  friends,  was  seen  in 
every  part  of  the  a«tion;  he  was  in  the  fosse,  defending 
the  trampled  bodies  of  the  dying;  he  was  on  the  dike, 
animating  the  few  who  survived.  Wawrzecki  was 
wounded,  and  every  hope  hung  upon  Thaddeus.  His 
presence  and  voice  infused  new  energy  into  the  arms  of 
his  fainting  countrymen;  they  kept  close  to  his  side, 
until  the  victors,  enraged  at  the  dauntless  intrepidity  of 
this  young  hero,  uttered  the  most  fearful  imprecations, 
and  rushing  on  his  little  phalanx,  attacked  it  with  re- 
doubled numbers  and  fury. 

Sobieski  sustained  the  shock  with  firmness;  but  wher- 
ever he  turned  his  eyes,  they  were  blasted  with  some 
object  which  made  them  recoil;  he  beheld  his  companions 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  81 

and  his  soldiers  strewing  the  earth,  and  their  triumphant 
adversaries  mounting  their  dying  bodies,  as  they  hastened 
with  loud  huzzas  to  the  destruction  of  Praga,  whose  gates 
were  now  burst  open.  His  eyes  grew  dim  at  the  sight, 
and  at  the  very  moment  in  which  he  tore  them  from  spec- 
tacles so  deadly  to  his  heart,  a  Livonian  officer  struck  him 
with  a  saber,  to  all  appearance  dead  upon  the  field. 
,  When  he  recovered  from  the  blow  (which,  having  lit 
on  the  steel  of  his  cap,  had  only  stunned  him),  he  looked 
around  and  found  that  all  near  him  was  quiet;  but  a  far 
different  scene  presented  itself  from  the  town.  The  roar 
of  cannon  and  the  bursting  of  bombs  thundered  through 
the  air,  which  was  rendered  livid  and  tremendous  by  long 
spires  of  fire  streaming  from  the  burning  houses,  and 
mingling  with  the  volumes  of  smoke  which  rolled  from 
the  guns.  The  dreadful  tocsin,  and  the  hurrahs  of  the 
victors,  pierced  the  soul  of  Thaddeus.  Springing  from 
the  ground,  he  was  preparing  to  rush  toward  the  gates, 
when  loud  cries  of  distress  issued  from  within.  They 
were  burst  open,  and  a  moment  after,  the  grand  magazine 
blew  up  with  a  horrible  explosion. 

In  an  instant  the  field  before  Praga  was  filled  with 
women  and  children  flying  in  all  direcions,  and  rending 
the  sky  with  their  shrieks.  "Father  Almighty!"  cried 
Thaddeus,  wringing  his  hands,  "canst  thou  suffer  this?" 
While  he  yet  spoke,  some  straggling  Cossacks  near  the 
town,  who  were  prowling  about,  glutted,  but  not  sated 
with  blood,  seized  the  poor  fugitives,  and  with  a  ferocity 
as  wanton  as  unmanly,  released  them  at  once  from  life 
and  misery. 

This  hideous  spectacle  brought  his  mother's  defenseless 
state  before  the  eyes  of  Sobieski.  Her  palace  was  only 
four  miles  distant;  and  while  the  barbarous  avidity  of  the 
enemy  was  too  busily  engaged  in  sacking  the  place  to  per- 
mit them  to  perceive  a  solitary  individual  hurrying  away 
amid  heaps  of  dead  bodies,  he  flew  across  the  desolated 
meadows  which  intervened  between  Praga  and  Villanow. 

Thaddeus  was  met  at  the  gate  of  his  palace  by  General 
Butzou,  who,  having  learned  the  fate  of  Praga  from  the 
noise  and  flames  in  that  quarter,  anticipated  the  arrival 
of  some  part  of  the  victorious  army  before  the  Avails  of 
Villanow.  When  its  young  count,  with  a  breaking  heart, 
crossed  the  drawbridge,  he  saw  that  the  worthy  veteran 


g2  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"had  prepared  everything  for  a  stont  resistance;  the  ram- 
parts were  lined  with  soldiers  and  well  mounted  with 
artillery. 

"Here,  thou  still  honored  Sobieski,"  cried  he  as  he 
conducted  Thaddeus  to  the  keep;  "let  the  worst  happen, 
here  I  am  resolved  to  dispute  the  possession  of  your  grand- 
father's palace  until  I  have  not  a  man  to  stand  by  me!"* 

Thaddeus  strained  him  in  silence  to  his  breast;  and 
after  examining  the  force  and  dispositions,  he  approved 
all  with  a  cold  despair  of  their  being  of  any  effectual  use, 
and  went  to  the  apartments  of  his  mother. 

The  countess'  women,  who  met  him  in  the  vestibule, 
begged  him  to  be  careful  how  he  entered  her  excellency's 
room,  for  she  had  only  just  recovered  from  a  swoon, 
occasioned  by  alarm  at  hearing  the  cannonade  against  the 
Polish  camp.  Her  son  waited  for  no  more,  but  not  hear- 
ing their  caution,  threw  open  the  door  of  the  chamber, 
and  hastening  to  his  mother's  couch,  cast  himself  into  her 
arms.  She  clung  round  his  neck,  and  for  awhile  joy 
stopped  her  respiration.  Bursting  into  tears,  she  wept 
over  him,  incapable  of  expressing  by  words  her  tumul- 
tuous gratitude  at  again  beholding  him  alive.  He  looked 
on  her  altered  and  pallid  features. 

"Oh!  my  mother,"  cried  he  clasping  her  to  his  breast; 
"you  are  ill;  and  what  will  become  of  you?" 

"My  beloved  son!"  replied  she,  kissing  his  forehead 
through  the  clotted  blood  that  oozed  from  a  cut  on  his 
temple;  "my  beloved  son,  before  our  cruel  murderers  can 
arrive,  I  shall  have  found  a  refuge  in  the  bosom  of  my 

God." 

Thaddeus  could  only  answer  with  a  groan.  She  re- 
sumed. "Give  me  your  hand.  I  must  not  witness  the 
grandson  of  Sobieski  given  up  to  despair;  let  your  mother 
incite  you  to  resignation.  You  see  I  have  not  breathed  a 
complaining  word,  although  I  behold  you  covered  with 
wounds."     As  she  spoke,  her  eye  pointed  to  the  sash  and 

*  It  was  little  more  than  just  a  century  before  this  awful  scene  took 
place  that  the  invincible  John  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  acting  upon 
the  old  mutually  protecting  principles  of  Cbristendom,  saved  the 
freedom  and  the  faith  of  Christian  Europe  from  the  Turkish  yoke. 
And  in  this  very  mansion  be  passed  his  latter  years  in  honored  peace. 
He  died  in  1694— a  remarkable  coincidence,  the  division  of  Poland 
occurring  in  1794. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  83 

handkerchief  which  were  bound  round  his  thigh  and  arm. 
"Our  separation  will  not  he  long;  a  few  short  years,  per- 
haps hours,  may  unite  us  forever  in  a  better  world." 

The  count  was  still  speechless;  he  could  only  press  her 
hand  to  his  lips.     After  a  pause,  she  proceeded: 

"Look  up,  my  dear  boy!  and  attend  tome.  Should 
Poland  become  the  property  of  other  nations,  I  conjure 
you,  if  you  survive  its  fall,  to  leave  it.  When  reduced  to 
captivity,  it  will  no  longer  be  an  asylum  for  a  man  of 
honor.  I  beseech  you,  should  this  happen,  go  that  very 
hour  to  England:  that  is  a  free  country;  and  I  have  been 
told  that  the  people  are  kind  to  the  unfortunate.  Per- 
haps you  will  find  that  Pembroke  Somerset  hath  not  quite 
forgotten  Poland.  Thaddeus!  Why  do  you  delay  to 
answer  me?  Remember,  these  are  your  mother's  dying 
words!" 

"I  will  obey  them,  my  mother!" 

"Then,"  continued  she,  taking  from  her  bosom  a 
small  miniature,  "let  me  tie  this  round  your  neck.  It  is 
the  portrait  of  your  father."  Thaddeus  bent  his  head, 
and  the  countess  fastened  it  under  his  neckcloth.  "Prize 
this  gift,  my  child ;  it  is  likely  to  be  all  that  you  will  now 
inherit  either  from  me  or  that  father.  Try  to  forget  his 
injustice,  my  dear  son;  and  in  memory  of  me,  never  part 
with  that  picture.  Oh,  Thaddeus!  From  the  moment 
in  which  I  first  received  it  until  this  instant,  it  has  never 
been  from  my  heart!" 

"And  it  shall  never  leave  mine,"  answered  he,  in  a 
stifled  voice,  "while  I  have  being." 

The  countess  was  preparing  to  reply,  when  a  sudden 
volley  of  firearms  made  Thaddeus  spring  upon  his  feet. 
Loud  cries  succeeded.  Women  rushed  into  the  apartment 
screaming,  "The  ramparts  are  stormed!"  and  the  next 
moment  that  quarter  of  the  building  rocked  to  its  foun- 
dation. The  countess  clung  to  the  bosom  of  her  son. 
Thaddeus  clasped  her  close  to  his  breast,  and  casting  up 
his  petitioning  eyes  to  Heaven,  cried,  "Shield  of  the  deso- 
late! grant  me  a  shelter  for  my  mother!" 

Another  burst  of  cannon  was  followed  by  a  heavy  crash, 
and  the  most  piercing  shrieks  echoed  through  the  palace. 
"All  is  lost!"  cried  a  soldier,  who  appeared  for  an  instant 
at  the  room  door,  and  then  vanished. 

Thaddeus,    overwhelmed   with     despair,     grasped    his 


£4  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

sword,  which  had  fallen  to  the  ground,  and  crying,  "My 
mother,  we  will  die  together!"  would  have  given  her  one 
last  and  assuring  embrace,  when  his  eyes  met  the  sight  of 
her  before-agitated  features  tranquilized  in  death.  She 
fell  from  his  palsied  arms  back  on  the  couch,  and  he 
stood  gazing  on  her  as  if  struck  by  a  power  which  had 
benumbed  all  his  faculties. 

The  tumult  in  the  palace  increased  every  moment;  but 
he  heard  it  not,  until  Butzou,  followed  by  two  or  three  of 
his  solditfs,  ran  into  the  apartment,  calling  out,  "Count, 
save  yourself!" 

Sobieski  still  remained  motionless.  The  general  caught 
him  by  the  arm,  and  instantly  covering  the  body  of  the 
deceased  countess  with  the  mantle  of  her  son,  hurried  his 
unconscious  steps,  by  an  opposite  door,  through  the  state 
chambers  into  the  gardens. 

Thaddeus  did  not  recover  his  recollection  until  he 
reached  the  outward  gate;  then,  breaking  from  the  hold 
of  his  friend,  was  returning  to  the  sorrowful  scene  he  had 
left,  when  Butzou,  aware  of  his  intentions,  just  stopped 
him  in  time  to  prevent  his  rushing  on  the  bayonets  of  a 
party  of  the  enemy's  infantry,  who  were  pursuing  them 
at  full  speed. 

The  count  now  rallied  his  distracted  faculties,  and  mak- 
ing a  stand,  with  the  general  and  his  three  Poles,  they 
compelled  this  merciless  detachment  to  seek  refuge 
among  the  arcades  of  the  building. 

Butzou  would  not  allow  his  young  lord  to  follow  in  that 
direction,  but  hurried  him  cross  the  park.  He  looked 
back,  however;  a  column  of  fire  issued  from  the  south 
towers.  Thaddeus  sighed,  as  if  his  life  were  in  that  sigh, 
"All  is  indeed  over;"  and  pressing  his  hand  to  his  fore- 
head, in  that  attitude  followed  the  steps  of  the  general 
toward  the  Vistula. 

The  wind  being  very  high,  the  flame  soon  spread,  itself 
over  the  roof  of  the  palace,  and  catching  at  every  com- 
bustible in  its  way,  the  invaders  became  so  terrified  at  the 
quick  progress  of  a  fire  which  threatened  to  consume 
themselves  as  well  as  their  plunder,  that  they  quitted  the 
spot  with  precipitation.  Descrying  the  count  and  his 
soldiers  at  a  short  distance,  they  directed  their  motions  to 
that  point.  Speedily  confronting  the  brave  fugitives,  they 
blocked  up  a  bridge  by  a  file  of  men  with  fixed  pikes,  and 


TEA  DDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  $5 

not  only  menaced  the  Polanders  as  they  advanced,  but 
derided  their  means  of  resistance. 

Sobieski,  indifferent  alike  to  danger  and  to  insults, 
stopped  short  to  the  left,  and  followed  by  his  friends, 
plunged  into  the  stream,  amid  a  shower  of  musket-balls 
from  the  enemy.  After  hard  buffeting  with  the  torrent, 
he  at  last  reached  the  opposite  bank,  and  was  assisted 
from  the  river  by  some  of  the  weeping  inhabitants  of 
Warsaw,  who  had  been  watching  the  expiring  ashes  of 
Praga,  and  the  flames  then  devouring  the  boasted  towers 
of  Villanow. 

Emerged  from  the  water,  Thaddeus  stood  to  regain  his 
breath ;  and  leaning  on  the  shoulder  of  Butzou,  he  pointed 
to  his  burning  palace  with  a  smile  of  agony.  "See,"  said 
he,  "what  a  funeral  pile  Heaven  has  given  to  the  manes 
of  my  unburied  mother!" 

The  general  did  not  speak,  for  grief  stopped  his  utter- 
ance; but  motioning  the  two  soldiers  to  proceed,  he  sup- 
ported the  count  into  the  citadel. 


CHAPTER  X. 

SOBIESKI'S  DEPARTURE  FROM  WARSAW. 

From  the  termination  of  this  awful  day,  in  which  a 
brave  and  hitherto  powerful  people  were  consinged  to  an 
abject  dependence,  Thaddeus  was  confined  to  his  apart- 
ment in  the  garrison. 

It  was  now  the  latter  end  of  November.  General 
Butzou,  supposing  that  the  illness  of  his  young  lord  might 
continue  some  weeks,  and  aware  that  no  time  ought  to  be 
lost  in  maintaining  all  that  was  yet  left  of  the  kingdom  of 
Poland,  obtained  his  permission  to  seek  its  only  remaining 
quarter.  Quitting  Warsaw,  he  joined  Prince  Ponia- 
towski,  who  was  yet  at  the  head  of  a  few  troops  near 
Sachoryn,  supported  by  the  undaunted  Niemcivitz,  the 
bard  and  the  hero,  who  had  fought  by  the  side  of  the  then 
imprisoned  Kosciusko  in  the  last  battle  in  which  that 
general  fell.* 

*Niemcivitz    had  beer,  a  fellow-collegian  with   Kosciusko.     But 
beiBg  of  a  mure  literary  disposition,  his  pen  rather  than   his  sword 


86  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Meanwhile  the  young  count,  finding  himself  tolerably 
restored,  except  in  those  wounds  of  the  heart  which  time 
only  can  heal,  was  enabled  to  leave  his  room,  and  breathe 
the  fresli  air  on  the  ramparts.  His  appearance  was 
greeted  by  the  officers  with  melancholy  congratulations ; 
but  their  replies  to  his  anxious  questions  displaced  the 
faint  smile  which  he  tried  to  spread  over  his  countenance, 
and  with  a  contracted  brow  he  listened  to  the  following 
information : 

"Praga  was  not  only  razed  to  the  ground,  but  upward 
of  three  thousand  persons  had  perished  by  the  sword,  the 
river,  and  the  flames.  All  the  horrors  of  Ismail  had  been 
reenacted  by  its  conqueror  on  the  banks  of  the  Vistula. 
The  citizens  of  Warsaw,  intimidated  by  such  a  spectacle, 
assembled  in  a  body,  and,  driven  to  desperation,  repaired 
to  the  foot  of  the  throne.  On  their  knees  they  implored 
his  majesty  to  forget  the  contested  rights  of  his  subjects, 
and  in  pity  to  their  wives  and  children,  allow  them,  by  a 
timely  submission,  to  save  those  dear  relatives  from  the 
ignominy  and  cruelty  which  had  been  wreaked  upon  the 
inhabitants  of  Praga.  Stanislaus  saw  that  opposition 
would  be  fruitless.  The  walls  of  his  capital  were  already 
surrounded  by  a  train  of  artillery,  ready  to  blow  the  town 
to  atoms;  the  fate  of  Poland  seemed  inevitable,  and  with 
a  deep  sigh,  the  king  assented  to  the  petition,  and  sent 
deputies  to  the  enemy's  camp. 

"General  Suwarrow,  the  commander-in-chief,"  con- 
tinued the  officer,  "demands  that  every  man  in  Warsaw 
shall  not  only  surrender  his  arms,  but  sue  for  pardon  for 
the  past.  This  is  his  reply  to  the  submission  of  the  king, 
and  these  conditions  are  accepted." 

"They  never  shall  be  by  me,"  said  Sobieski;  and  turn- 
ing from  his  informer,  hardly  knowing  what  were  his 
intentions,  he  walked  toward  the  royal  palace. 


took  part  in  the  early  struggles  between  Poland  and  her  enemies; 
and  in  this  light  he  was  regarded  as  the  Tyrtceu&oi  his  country.  But 
at  length  he  joined  the  army  in  person,  and,  as  above  noticed,  fought 
in  some  of  the  decisive  fields  of  Poland.  In  one  of  these,  he  also  was 
taken  prisoner,  and  put  into  the  same  prison  with  the  friend  of  his 
youth,  the  severely  wounded  General  Kosciusko.  When  the  Em- 
peror Paul,  on  his  succession  to  the  imperial  throne,  generously,  and 
with  signal  marks  of  respect,  released  the  captive  chief,  the  liberty 
of  Niemcivitz  was  likewise  given  to  him.  And  both  together  shortly 
afterward  proceeded  to  the  United  States,  on  a  warm  invitation  from 
the  President,     They  took  England,  for  a  brief  visit,  on  their  way. 


TTJA  DDE  US  OF  WA  RftA  W.  87 

When  his  majesty  was  apprised  thai  the  young  ('mint 
Sobieski  awaited  his  commands  in  the  audience-cnamber, 

he  left  his  closet  and  entered  the  room.  Thaddeus,  with 
a  swelling  heart,  would  have  thrown  himself  on  his  knee, 
but  the  king  prevented  him,  aud  pressed  him  with  emo- 
tion in  his  arms. 

"Brave  young  man!''  cried  he,  "I  embrace  in  yon  the 
last  of  those  Polish  youths  who  were  so  lately  the  bright- 
est jewels  in  my  crown." 

Tears  stood  in  the  monarch's  eyes  while  he  spoke. 
Sobieski,  with  hardly  a  steadier  utterance,  answered,  "I 
come  to  receive  your  majesty's  commands.  I  will  obey 
them  in  all  things  but  in  surrendering  this  sword  (which 
was  my  grandfather's)  into  the  hands  of  your  enemies." 

"I  will  not  desire  it,"  replied  Stanislaus.  "By  my 
acquiescence  with  the  terms  of  Kussia,  I  only  comply 
with  the  earnest  petitions  of  my  people.  I  shall  not  re- 
quire of  you  to  compromise  your  country;  but  alas!  you 
must  not  throw  away  your  life  in  a  now  hopeless  cause. 
Fate  has  consigned  Poland  to  subjection;  and  when 
Heaven,  in  its  mysterious  decrees,  confirms  the  chastise- 
ment of  nations,  it  is  man's  duty  to  submit.  For  myself, 
I  am  to  bury  my  griefs  and  indignities  in  the  castle  of 
Grodno." 

The  blood  rushed  over  the  cheek  of  Thaddeus  at  this 
declaration,  to  which  the  proud  indignation  of  his  soul 
could  in  no  way  subscribe,  and  with  an  agitated  voice  he 
exclaimed,  "If  my  sovereign  be  already  at  the  command 
of  our  oppressors,  then  indeed  is  Poland  no  more !  and  I 
have  nothing  to  do  but  to  perform  the  dying  will  of  my 
mother.  Will  your  majesty  grant  me  permission  to  set 
off  for  England,  before  I  may  be  obliged  to  witness  the 
last  calamity  of  my  Avretched  country?" 

"I  would  to  Heaven,"  replied  the  king,  "that  I,  too, 
might  repose  my  age  and  sorrows  in  that  happy  king- 
dom! Go,  Sobieski;  your  name  is  worthy  of  such  an 
asylum;  my  prayers  and  blessings  shall  follow  you." 

Thaddeus  pressed  his  hand  in  silence  to  his  lips. 

"Believe  me,  my  dear  count,"  continued  Stanislaus, 
"my  soul  bleeds  at  this  parting.  I  know  the  treasure 
which  your  family  has  always  been  to  this  nation;  I  know 
your  own  individual  merit.  I  know  the  wealth  which  you 
have  sacrificed  for  me  and  my  subjects,  and  I  am  power- 
less to  express  my  gratitude*" 


88  TEA  D  7)EUS  OF  WA  RSA  W. 

"Had  I  done  more  than  my  duty  in  that,"  replied 
Thaddeus,  "such  words  from  your  majesty  would  have 
been  a  reward  adequate  to  any  privation;  but  alas!  no. 
I  have  performed  less  than  my  duty;  the  blood  of  Sobi- 
eski  ought  not  to  have  been  spared  one  drop  when  the 
liberties  of  his  country  perished!"  Thaddeus  blushed 
while  he  spoke,  and  almost  repented  the  too  ready  zeal  of 
bis  friends  in  having  saved  him  from  the  general  destruc- 
tion at  Villanow. 

The  voice  of  the  venerable  Stanislaus  became  fainter  as 
he  resumed : 

"Perhaps  had  a  Sobieski  reigned  at  this  time,  these 
horrors  might  not  have  been  accomplished.  That  resist- 
less power  which  has  overwhelmed  my  people,  I  cannot 
forget  is  the  same  that  put  the  scepter  into  my  hand. 
But  Catharine  misunderstood  my  principles,  when  assist- 
ing in  my  election  to  the  throne;  she  thought  she  was 
planting  merely  her  own  viceroy  there.  But  I  could  not 
obliterate  from  my  heart  that  my  ancestors,  like  your 
own,  were  hereditary  sovereigns  of  Poland,  nor  cease  to 
feel  the  stamp  the  King  of  kings  had  graven  upon  that 
heart — to  uphold  the  just  laws  of  my  fathers!  and,  to  the 
utmost,  I  have  struggled  to  fulfill  my  trust." 

"Yes,  my  sovereign,"  replied  Thaddeus;  "and  while 
there  remains  one  man  on  earth  who  has  drawn  his  first 
breath  in  Poland,  he  will  bear  witness  in  all  the  lands 
through  which  he  may  be  doomed  to  wander  that  he  has 
received  from  you  the  care  and  affection  of  a  father.  Oh ! 
sire,  how  will  future  ages  believe  that,  in  the  midst  of 
civilized  Europe,  a  brave  people  and  a  virtuous  monarch 
were  suffered,  unaided,  and  even  without  remonstrance, 
to  fall  into  the  grasp  of  usurpation — nay,  of  annihilation 
of  their  name!" 

Stanislaus  laid  his  hand  on  the  arm  of  the  count. 

"Man's  ambition  and  baseness,"  said  the  king,  "are 
monstrous  to  the  contemplation  of  youth  only.  You  are 
learning  your  lesson  early;  I  have  studied  mine  for  many 
years,  and  with  a  bitterness  of  soul  which  in  some  meas- 
ure prepared  me  for  the  completion.  My  kingdom  has 
passed  from  me  at  the  moment  you  have  lost  your  country. 
Before  we  part  forever,  my  dear  Sobieski,  take  with  you 
this  assurance — you  have  served  the  unfortunate  Stanis- 
laus to  the  latest  hour  in  which  you  beheld  him.  That 


TEA DDEUS  OF  WA RSA  W.  89 

which  yon  have  just  said,  expressive  of  the  sentiments  of 
those  who  were  my  subjects,  is  indeed  a  balm  to  my  heart, 
and  I  will  carry  its  consolations  to  my  prison." 

The  king  paused.  Sobieski,  agitated,  and  incapable 
of  speaking,  threw  himself  at  his  majesty's  feet,  and 
pressed  his  hand  with  fervency  and  anguish  to  his  lips. 
The  king  looked  down  on  his  graceful  figure,  and  pierced 
to  the  soul  by  the  more  graceful  feelings  which  dictated 
the  action,  the  tear  which  stood  in  his  eye,  rolled  over  his 
cheek,  and  was  followed  by  another  before  he  could  add : 

"Eise,  my  young  friend.  Take  from  me  this  ring.  It 
contains  my  picture.  Wear  it  in  remembrance  of  a  man 
who  loves  you,  and  who  can  never  forget  your  worth  or 
the  loyalty  and  patriotism  of  your  house." 

The  Chancellor  Zamoyisko  at  that  moment  being  an- 
nounced, Thaddeus  rose  from  his  knee,  and  was  preparing 
to  leave  the  room,  when  his  majesty,  perceiving  his  in- 
tention, desired  him  to  stop. 

"Stay,  count!"  cried  he,  "I  will  burden  you  with  one 
request.  I  am  now  a  king  without  a  crown,  without  sub- 
jects, without  a  foot  of  laud  in  which  to  bury  me  when  I 
die.  I  cannot  reward  the  fidelity  of  any  one  of  the  few 
friends  of  whom  my  enemies  have  not  deprived  me;  but 
you  are  young,  and  HeaVen  may  yet  smile  upon  you  in 
some  distant  nation.  Will  you  pay  a  debt  of  gratitude 
for  your  poor  sovereign?  Should  yon  ever  again  meet 
with  the  good  old  Butzou,  who  rescued  me  when  my  pres- 
ervation lay  on  the  fortune  of  a  moment,  remember  that 
I  regard  him  as  once  the  savior  of  my  life!  I  was  told 
to-day  that  on  the  destruction  of  Praga  this  brave  man 
joined  the  army  of  my  brother.  It  is  now  disbanded, 
and  he,  with  the  rest  of  my  faithful  soldiers,  is  cast  forth  in 
his  old  age,  a  wanderer  in  a  pitiless  world.  Should  you 
ever  meet  him,  Sobieski,  succor  him  for  my  sake." 

"As  Heaven  may  succor  me!"  cried  Thaddeus;  and 
putting  his  majesty's  hand  a  second  time  to  his  lips,  he 
bowed  to  the  chancellor  and  passed  into  the  street. 

When  the  count  returned  to  the  citadel,  he  found  that 
all  was  as  the  king  had  represented.  The  soliders  in  the 
garrison  were  reluctantly  preparing  to  give  up  their  arms; 
and  the  nobles,  in  compassion  to  the  cries  of  the  people, 
were  trying  to  humble  their  necks  to  the  yoke  of  the  dic- 
tator.    The  magistrates  lingered  as  they  went  to  take  the 


90  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

city  keys  from  the  hands  of  their  good  king,  and  with  sad 
whispers  anticipated  the  moment  in  which  they  must 
surrender  them,  and  their  laws  and  national  existence,  to 
the  jealous  dominion  of  three  despotic  foreign  powers. 

Poland  was  now  no  place  for  Sobieski.  He  had  sur- 
vived all  his  kindred.  He  had  survived  the  liberties  of 
his  country.  He  had  seen  the  king  a  prisoner,  and  his 
countrymen  trampled  on  by  deceit  and  usurpation.  As 
he  walked  on,  musing  over  these  circumstances,  he  met 
with  little  interrupution,  for  the  streets  were  deserted. 
Here  and  there  a  poor  miserable  wretch  passed  him,  who 
seemed,  by  his  wan  cheeks  and  haggard  eyes,  already  to 
repent  the  too  successful  prayers  of  the  deputation.  The 
shops  were  shut.  Thaddeus  stopped  a  few  minutes  in  the 
great  square,  which  used  to  be  crowded  with  happy  citi- 
zens, but  now  not  one  man  was  to  be  seen.  An  awful 
and  painful  silence  reigned  over  all.  His  soul  felt  too 
truly  the  dread  consciousness  of  this  utter  annihilation 
of  his  country,  for  him  to  throw  off  the  heavy  load  from 
his  oppressed  heart,  in  this  his  last  walk  down  the  east 
street  toward  the  ramparts  which  covered  the  Vistula. 

He  turned  his  eyes  to  the  spot  where  once  stood  the 
magnificent  towers  of  his  paternal  palace. 

"Yes,"  cried  he,  "it  is  now  time  for  me  to  obey  the 
last  command  of  my  mother!  Nothing  remains  of  Poland 
but  its  soil — nothing  of  my  home  but  its  ashes!" 

The  victors  had  pitched  a  detachment  of  tents  amid 
the  ruins  of  Villanow,  and  were  at  this  moment  busying 
themselves  in  searching  among  the  stupendous  fragments 
for  what  plunder  the  fire  might  have  spared. 

"Insatiate  robbers!"  exclaimed  Thaddeus;  "Heaven 
will  requite  this  sacrilege."  He  thought  of  his  mother, 
who  lay  beneath  the  ruins,  and  tore  himself  from  the 
sight,  while  he  added,  "Farewell!  forever  farewell!  thou 
beloved,  revered  Villanow,  where  I  was  reared  in  bliss 
and  tenderness!  I  quit  thee  and  my  country  forever!" 
As  he  spoke,  he  raised  his  hands  and  eyes  to  heaven,  and 
pressing  the  picture  his  mother  had  given  him  to  his  lips 
and  bosom,  turned  from  the  parapet,  determining  to  pre- 
pare that  night  for  his  departure  the  next  morning. 

He  arose  by  daybreak,  and  having  gathered  together  all 
his  little  wealth,  the  whole  of  which  was  compressed 
within  the  portmanteau  that  was  buckled  on  his  gallant 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  91 

horse,  precisely  two  hours  before  the  triumphal  car  of 
General  Suwarrow  entered  Warsaw,  Sobieski  left  it.  As 
he  rode  along  the  streets,  he  bedewed  its  stones  with  his 
tears.  They  were  the  first  that  he  had  shed  during  the 
long  series  of  his  misfortunes,  and  they  now  flowed  so  fast 
that  he  could  hardly  discern  his  way  out  of  the  city.  At 
the  great  gate  his  horse  stopped,  and  neighed  with  a 
strange  sound. 

"Poor  Saladin!"  cried  Thaddeus,  stroking  his  neck; 
"are  you  so  sorry  at  leaving  Warsaw  that,  like  your  un- 
happy master,  you  linger  to  take  a  last  lamenting  look?" 

His  tears  redoubled;  and  the  warder,  as  he  closed  the 
gate  after  him,  implored  permission  to  kiss  the  hand  of 
the  noble  Count  Sobieski,  ere  he  should  turn  his  back  on 
Poland,  never  to  return.  Thaddeus  looked  kindly  round, 
and  shaking  hands  with  the  honest  man,  after  saying  a 
few  friendly  words  to  him,  rode  on  with  a  loitering  pace, 
until  he  reached  that  part  of  the  river  which  divides  Ma- 
sovia  from  the  Prussian  dominions. 

Here  he  flung  himself  off  his  horse,  and  standing  for  a 
moment  on  the  hill  that  rises  near  the  bridge,  retraced, 
with  his  almost  blinded  sight,  the  long  and  desolated 
lands  through  which  he  had  passed;  then  involuntarily 
dropping  on  his  knees,  he  plucked  a  tuft  of  grass,  and 
pressing  it  to  his  lips,  exclaimed,  "Farewell,  Poland! 
Farewell,  all  my  earthly  happiness!" 

Almost  stifled  by  emotion,  he  put  this  poor  relic  of  his 
country  into  his  bosom,  and  remounting  his  noble  animal, 
crossed  the  bridge. 

As  one  who,  flying  from  any  particular  object,  thinks 
to  lose  himself  and  his  sorrows  when  it  lessens  to  his  view, 
Sobieski  pursued  the  remainder  of  his  journey  with  a 
speed  which  soon  brought  him  to  Dantzic. 

Here  he  remained  a  few  days,  and  during  that  interval 
the  firmness  of  his  mind  was  restored.  He  felt  a  calm 
arising  from  the  conviction  that  his  afflictions  had  gained 
their  summit,  and  that,  however  heavy  they  were,  Heaven 
had  laid  them  on  him  for  a  trial  of  his  faith  and  virtue. 
Under  this  belief,  he  ceased  to  weep;  but  he  never  was 
seen  to  smile. 

Having  entered  into  an  agreement  with  the  master  of 
a  vessel  to  carry  him  across  the  sea,  he  found  the  strength 
of  his  finances  would  barely  defray  the  charges  of  the 


92  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

voyage.  Considering  this  circumstance,  he  saw  the  im- 
possibility of  taking  his  horse  to  England. 

The  first  time  this  idea  presented  itself,  it  almost  over- 
set his  determined  resignation.  Tears  would  again  have 
started  into  his  eyes,  had  he  not  by  force  repelled  them. 

"To  part  from  my  faithful  Saladin,"  said  he  to  him- 
self, "that  has  borne  me  since  I  first  could  use  a  sword; 
that  has  carried  me  through  so  many  dangers,  and  has 
come  with  me  even  into  exile — it  is  painful,  it  is  ungrate- 
ful!" He  was  in  the  stable  when  this  thought  assailed 
him;  and  as  the  reflections  followed  each  other,  he  again 
turned  to  the  stall.  "But,  my  poor  fellow,  I  will  not 
barter  your  services  for  gold.  I  will  seek  for  some  master 
who  may  be  kind  to  you,  in  pity  to  my  misfortunes." 

He  reentered  the  hotel  where  he  lodged,  and  calling 
a  waiter,  inquired  who  occupied  the  fine  mansion  and 
park  on  the  east  of  the  town.  The  man  replied,  "Mr. 
Hopetown,  an  eminent  British  merchant,  who  has  been 
settled  at  Dantzic  above  forty  years." 

"I  am  glad  he  is  a  Briton!"  was  the  sentiment 
which  succeeded  this  information  in  the  count's  mind. 
He  immediately  took  his  resolution,  but  hardly  had  pre- 
pared to  put  it  in  into  execution,  when  lie  received  a  sum- 
mons from  the  vessel  to  be  on  board  in  half  an  hour,  the 
wind  having  set  fair. 

Thacldeus,  somewhat  disconcerted  by  this  hasty  call, 
with  an  agitated  hand  wrote  the  following  letter: 

"To  John  Hopetown,  Esq. 

"Sir:  A  Polish  officer,  who  has  sacrificed  everything 
but  his  honor  to  the  last  interests  of  his  country,  now  ad- 
dresses you. 

"You  are  a  Briton;  and  of  whom  can  an  unhappy  vic- 
tim to  the  cause  of  loyalty  and  freedom  with  less  debase- 
ment solicit  an  obligation? 

"I  cannot  afford  support  to  the  fine  animal  which  has 
carried  me  through  the  battles  of  this  fatal  war;  I  disdain 
to  sell  him,  and  therefore  I  implore  you,  by  the  respect 
that  you  pay  to  the  memory  of  your  ancestors,  who  strug- 
gled for  and  retained  that  liberty  in  defense  of  which  we 
are  thus  reduced — I  earnestly  implore  you  to  give  him  an 
asylum  in  your  park,  and  to  protect  him  from  injurious 


usage. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W.  93 

"Perform  this  benevolent  action,  sir,  and  you  shall  ever 
be  remembered  with  gratitude  by  an  unfortunate 

"POLANDER. 

"Dantzio,  November,  1794. " 

The  count,  having  sealed  and  directed  this  letter,  went 
to  the  hotel  yard,  and  ordered  that  his  horse  might  be 
brought  out.  A  few  days  of  rest  had  restored  him  to  his 
former  mettle,  and  he  appeared  from  the  stable  prancing 
and  pawing  the  earth,  as  he  used  to  do  when  Thaddeus 
was  about  to  mount  him  for  the  field.  The  groom  was 
striving  in  vain  to  restrain  the  spirit  of  the  animal,  when 
the  count  took  hold  of  the  bridle.  The  noble  creature 
knew  his  master,  and  became  gentle  as  a  lamb.  After 
stroking  him  two  or  three  times,  with  a  bursting  heart 
Thaddeus  returned  the  reins  to  the  man's  hand,  and  at 
the  same  time  gave  him  a  letter. 

"There,"  said  he;  "take  that  note  and  the  horse  di- 
rectly to  the  house  of  Mr.  Hopetown.  Leave  them,  for 
the  letter  requires  no  answer." 

This  last  pang  mastered,  he  walked  out  of  the  yard 
toward  the  quay.  The  wind  continuing  fair,  he  entered 
the  ship,  and  within  an  hour  set  sail  for  England. 


CHAPTEK    XI. 

THE     BALTIC. 

Sobieski  passed  the  greater  part  of  each  day  and  the 
whole  of  every  night  on  the  deck  of  the  vessel.  He  was 
too  much  absorbed  in  himself  to  receive  any  amusement 
from  the  passengers,  who,  observing  his  melancholy, 
thought  to  dispel  it  by  their  company  and  conversation. 

When  any  of  these  people  came  upon  deck,  he  walked 
to  the  head  of  the  ship,  took  seat  upon  the  cable  which 
bound  the  anchor  to  the  forecastle,  and  while  their  fears 
rendered  him  safe  from  their  well-meant  persecution,  he 
gained  some  respite  from  vexation,  though  none  from 
misery. 

The  ship  having  passed  through  the  Baltic,  and  en- 
tered on  the  British  sea,  the  passengers,  running  from 
side  to  side  of  the  vessed,  pointed  out  to  Thaddeus  the 


94  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

distant  shore  of  England,  lying  like  a  hazy  ridge  along 
the  horizbn.  The  happy  people,  while  they  strained  their 
eyes  through  glasses,  desired  him  to  observe  different 
spots  on  the  hardly  perceptible  line  which  they  called 
Flamborough  Head  and  the  hills  of  Yorkshire.  His  heart 
turned  sick  at  these  objects  of  their  delight,  for  not  one 
of  them  raised  an  answering  feeling  in  his  breast.  Eng- 
land could  be  nothing  to  him ;  if  anything,  it  would  prove 
a  desert,  which  contained  no  one  object  for  his  regrets  or 
wishes. 

The  image  of  Pembroke  Somerset,  indeed,  rose  in  his 
mind,  like  the  dim  recollection  of  one  who  has  been  a 
long  time  dead.  While  they  were  together  at  Villanow, 
they  regarded  each  other  warmly,  and  when  they  parted 
they  promised  to  correspond.  One  day,  in  pursuit  of  the 
enemy,  Thaddeus  was  so  unlucky  as  to  lose  the  pocket- 
book  which  contained  his  friend's  address;  but  yet,  uneasy 
at  his  silence,  he  ventured  two  letters  to  him,  directed 
merely  at  Sir  Eobert  Somerset's,  England.  To  these  he 
received  no  answer;  and  the  palatine  evinced  so  just  a 
displeasure  at  such  marked  neglect  and  ingratitude,  that 
he  would  not  suffer  him  to  be  mentioned  in  his  presence, 
and  indeed  Thaddeus,  from  disappointment  and  regret, 
felt  no  inclination  to  transgress  the  command. 

When  the  young  count,  during  the  prominent  interests 
of  the  late  disastrous  campaign,  remembered  these  things, 
he  found  little  comfort  in  recollecting  the  name  of  his 
young  English  guest;  and  now  that  he  was  visiting  Eng- 
land as  a  poor  exile,  with  indignation  and  grief  he  gave 
up  the  wish  with  the  hope  of  meeting  Mr.  Somerset. 
Sensible  that  Somerset  had  not  acted  as  became  the  man 
to  whom  he  could  apply  in  his  distress,  he  resolved,  un- 
friended as  he  was,  to  wipe  him  at  once  from  his  memory. 
With  a  bitter  sigh  he  turned  his  back  on  the  land  to 
which  he  was  going,  and  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  tract  of  sea 
which  then  divided  him  from  all  that  he  had  ever  loved 
or  had  given  him  true  happiness. 

"Father  of  mercy!"  murmured  he,  in  a  suppressed 
voice,  "what  have  I  done  to  deserve  this  misery?  Why 
have  I  been  at  one  stroke  deprived  of  all  that  rendered 
existence  estimable?  Two  months  ago,  I  had  a  mother, 
a  more  than  father,  to  love  and  cherish  me;  I  had  a 
country  that  looked  up  to  them  and  to  me  with  venera- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  95 

tion  and  confidence.  Now  I  am  bereft  of  all.  I  have 
neither  father,  mother,  nor  country,  but  I  am  going  to  a 
land  of  utter  strangers." 

Such  impatient  adjurations  were  never  wrung  from 
Sobieski  by  the  anguish  of  sudden  torture  without  his  in- 
genuous and  pious  mind  reproaching  itself  for  such  faith- 
less repining.  His  soul  was  soft  as  a  woman's;  but  it 
knew  neither  effeminacy  nor  despair.  While  his  heart 
bled,  his  countenance  retained  its  serenity.  While  afflic- 
tion crushed  him  to  the  earth,  and  nature  paid  a  few  hard- 
wrung  drops  to  his  repeated  bereavements,  he  contemned 
his  tears,  and  raised  his  fixed  and  confiding  eye  to  that 
Power  which  poured  down  its  tempests  on  his  head. 
Thaddeus  felt  as  a  man,  but  received  consolation  as  a 
Christian. 

When  his  ship  arrived  at  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  the 
eagerness  of  the  passengers  increased  to  such  an  excess 
that  they  would  not  stand  still,  nor  be  silent  a  moment; 
and  when  the  vessel,  under  full  sail,  passed  Sheerness, 
and  the  dome  of  St.  Paul's  appeared  before  them,  their 
exclamations  were  loud  and  incessant.  "My  home!  my 
parents!  my  wife!  my  friends!"  were  the  burden  of  every 
tongue. 

Thaddeus  found  his  calmed  spirits  again  disturbed; 
and,  rising  from  his  seat,  he  retired  unobserved  by  the 
people,  who  were  too  happy  to  attend  to  anything  which 
did  not  agree  with  their  own  transports.  The  cabin  was 
as  deserted  as  himself.  Feeling  that  there  is  no  solitude 
like  that  of  the  heart,  when  it  looks  around  and  sees  in 
the  vast  concourse  of  human  beings  not  one  to  whom  it 
can  pour  forth  its  sorrows,  or  receive  the  answering  sigh 
of  sympathy,  he  threw  himself  on  one  of  the  lockers,  and 
with  difficulty  restrained  the  tears  from  gushing  from  his 
eyes.  He  held  his  hand  over  them,  while  he  contemned 
himself  for  a  weakness  so  unbecoming  his  manhood. 

He  despised  himself;  but  let  not  others  despise  him. 
It  is  difficult  for  those  who  lie  morning  and  evening  in 
the  lap  of  domestic  indulgence  to  conceive  the  misery  of 
bieng  thrown  out  into  a  bleak  and  merciless  world ;  it  is 
impossible  for  the  happy  man,  surrounded  by  luxury  and 
gay  companions,  to  figure  to  himself  the  reflections  of  a 
fellow-creature  who,  having  been  fostered  in  the  bosom 
of  affection  and  elegance,  is  cast  at  once  from  all  society, 


93  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

bereft  of  home,  of  comfort,  of  "every  stay,  save  innocence 
and  Heaven."  None  but  the  wretched  can  imagine  what 
the  wretched  endure  from  actual  distress,  from  appre- 
hended misfortune,  from  outraged  feelings,  and  ten 
thousand  nameless  sensibilities  to  offense  which  only  the 
unfortunate  can  conceive,  dread,  and  experience.  But 
what  is  it  to  be  not  only  without  a  home,  but  without  a 
country?  Thaddeus  unconsciously  uttered  a  groan  like 
that  of  death. 

The  noise  redoubled  above  his  head,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  afterward  one  of  the  sailors  came  rumbling  down 
the  stairs. 

"Will  it  please  your  honor,"  said  he,  "to  get  up? 
That  be  my  chest,  and  I  want  my  clothes  to  clean  myself 
before  I  go  on  shore.  Mother  I  know  be  waiting  me  at 
Blackwall." 

Thaddeus  rose,  and  with  a  withered  heart  again  as- 
cended to  the  deck. 

On  coming  up  the  hatchway,  he  saw  that  the  ship  was 
moored  in  the  midst  of  a  large  city,  and  was  surrounded 
by  myriads  of  vessels  from  every  quarter  of  the  globe. 
He  leaned  over  the  railing,  and  in  silence  looked  down  on 
the  other  passengers,  who  were  bearing  off  in  boats,  and 
shaking  hands  with  the  people  who  came  to  receive  them. 

"It  is  near  dark,  sir,"  said  the  captain;  "mayhap  you 
would  wish  to  go  on  shore?  There  is  a  boat  just  come 
round,  and  the  tide  won't  serve  much  longer;  and  as  your 
friends  don't  seem  to  be  coming  for  you,  you  are  welcome 
to  a  place  in  it  with  me." 

The  count  thanked  him;  and  after  defraying  the  ex- 
penses of  the  voyage,  and  giving  money  among  the  sailors, 
he  desired  that  his  portmanteau  might  be  put  into  the 
wherry.  The  honest  fellows,  in  gratitude  to  the  bounty 
of  their  passenger,  struggled  who  should  obey  his  com- 
mands, when  the  skipper,  angry  at  being  detained, 
snatched  away  the  baggage,  and  flinging  it  into  the  boat, 
leaped  in  after  it,  and  was  followed  by  Thaddeus. 

The  taciturnity  of  the  seaman  and  the  deep  melancholy 
of  his  guest  were  not  broken  until  they  reached  the  Tower 
stairs. 

"Go,  Ben,  fetch  the  gentleman  a  coach." 

The  count  bowed  to  the  captain,  who  gave  the  order, 
and  in  a  few  minutes  the  boy  returned,  saying  there  was 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  97 

one  in  waiting.  He  took  up  the  portmanteau,  and  Thad- 
deus, following  him,  ascended  the  Tower  stairs,  where  the 
carriage  ctood.  Ben  threw  in  the  baggage  and  the  count 
put  his  foot  on  the  step. 

"Where  must  the  man  drive  to?" 

Thaddeus  drew  it  back  again. 

"Yes,  sir,"  continued  the  lad;  "where  be  your  honor's 
home?" 

"In  my  grave,"  was  the  response  his  aching  heart  made 
to  this  question.  He  hesitated  before  he  spoke.  "A 
hotel,"  said  he,  flinging  himself  on  the  seat,  and  throwing 
a  piece  of  silver  into  the  lad's  hat. 

"What  hotel,  sir?"  asked  the  coachman. 

"Any." 

The  man  closed  the  door,  mounted  his  box,  and  drove 
off. 

It  was  now  near  seven  o'clock,  on  a  dark  December 
evening.  The  lamps  were  lighted;  and  it  being  Saturday 
night,  the  streets  were  crowded  with  people.  Thaddeus 
looked  at  them  as  he  was  driven  along.  "Happy 
creatures!"  thought  he;  "you  have  each  a  home  to  go 
to;  you  have  each  expectant  friends  to  welcome  you; 
every  one  of  you  knows  some  in  the  world  who  will 
smile  when  you  enter;  while  I,  wretched,  wretched  Sobi- 
eski,  where  are  now  all  thy  highly  prized  treasures,  thy 
boasted  glory,  and  those  beloved  ones  who  rendered  that 
glory  most  precious  to  thee?  Alas!  all  are  withdrawn; 
vanished  like  a  scene  of  enchantment,  from  which  I  have 
indeed  awakened  to  a  frightful  solitude." 

His  reflections  were  broken  by  the  stopping  of  the 
carriage.     The  man  opened  the  door. 

"Sir,  I  have  brought  you  to  the  Hummums,  Covent 
Garden;  it  has  as  good  accommodations  as  any  in  the 
town.     My  fare  is  five  shillings." 

Thaddeus  paid  the  amount,  and  followed  him  and  his 
baggage  into  the  coffee-room.  At  the  entrance  of  a  man 
of  his  figure  several  waiters  presented  themselves,  begging 
to  know  his  commands. 

"I  want  a  chamber." 

He  was  ushered  into  a  very  handsome  dining-room, 
where  one  of  them  laid  down  the  portmanteau,  and  then 
bowing  low,  inquired  whether  he  had  dined. 

The  waiter  having  received  his  orders  (for  the  count 


98  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

saw  that  it  was  necessary  to  call  for  something),  hastened 
into  the  kitchen  to  communicate  them  to  the  cook. 

"Upon  my  word,  Betty,"  cried  he,  "you  must  do  yonr 
best  to-night;  for  the  chicken  is  for  the  finest-looking 
fellow  you  ever  set  eyes  on.  By  Jove,  I  believe  him  to  be 
6ome  Eussian  nobleman;  perhaps  the  great  Suwarrow 
himself!  and  he  speaks  English  as  well  as  I  do  myself." 

"A  prince,  you  mean,  Jenkins!"  said  a  pretty  girl  who 
entered  at  that  moment.  "Since  I  was  born  I  never  see'd 
any  English  lord  walk  up  and  down  the  room  with  such 
an  air;  he  looks  like  a  king.  For  my  part,  I  should  not 
wonder  if  he  is  one  of  them  there  emigrant  kings,  for 
they  say  there  is  a  power  of  them  now  wandering  about 
the  world." 

"You  talk  like  a  fool,  Sally,"  cried  the  sapient  waiter. 
"Don't  you  see  that  his  dress  is  military?  Look  at  his 
black  cap,  with  its  long  bag  and  great  feather,  and  the 
monstrous  sword  at  his  side;  look  at  them,  and  then  if 
you  can,  say  I  am  mistaken  in  deciding  that  he  is  some 
great  Russian  commander — most  likely  come  over  as  am- 
bassador!" 

"But  he  came  in  a  hackney-coach,"  cried  a  little  dirty 
boy  in  the  corner.  "As  I  was  running  upstairs  with 
Colonel  Leson's  shoes,  I  see'd  the  coachman  bring  in  his 
portmanteau." 

"Well,  Jackanapes,  what  of  that?"  cried  Jenkins;  "is 
a  nobleman  always  to  carry  his  equipage  about  him,  like  a 
snail  with  its  shell  on  its  back?  To  be  sure,  this  foreign 
lord,  or  prince,  is  only  come  to  stay  here  till  his  own 
house  is  fit  for  him.     I  will  be  civil  to  him." 

"And  so  will  I,  Jenkins,"  rejoined  Sally,  smiling;  "for 
I  never  see'd  such  handsome  blue  eyes  in  my  born  days; 
and  they  turned  so  sweet  on  me,  and  he  spoke  so  kindly 
when  he  bade  me  stir  the  fire;  and  when  he  sat  down  by 
it,  and  throwed  off  his  great  fur  cloak,  I  see'd  a  glittering 
star  on  his  breast,  and  a  figure  so  noble,  that  indeed, 
cook,  I  do  verily  believe  he  is,  as  Jenkins  says,  an  en- 
throned king!" 

"You  and  Jenkins  be  a  pair  of  fools,"  cried  the  cook, 
who,  without  noticing  their  description,  had  been  sulkily 
basting  the  fowl.  "I  will  be  sworn  he's  just  sucb/another 
king  as  that  palavering  rogue  was  a  French  duke  who  got 
my  master's  watch  and  pawned  it!     As  for  you,  Sally, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  99 

you  had  better  beware  of  hunting  after  foreign  men-folk ; 
it's  not  seemly  for  a  young  woman,  and  you  may  chance  to 
rue  it." 

The  moralizing  cook  had  now  brought  the  whole 
kitchen  on  her  shoulders.  The  men  abused  her  for  a 
surly  old  maid,  and  the  women  tittered,  while  they 
seconded  her  censure  by  cutting  sly  jokes  on  the  blushing 
face  of  poor  Sally,  who  stood  almost  crying  by  the  side  of 
her  champion,  Jenkins. 

While  this  hubbub  was  going  forward  below  stairs,  its 
unconscious  subject  was,  as  Sally  had  described,  sitting  in 
a  chair  close  to  the  fire,  with  his  feet  on  the  fender,  his 
arms  folded,  and  his  eyes  bent  on  the  flames.  He  mused; 
but  his  ideas  followed  each  other  in  such  quick  confused 
succession,  it  hardly  could  be  said  he  thought  of  anything. 
The  entrance  of  dinner  roused  him  from  his  reverie. 
It  was  carried  in  by  at  least  half  a  dozen  waiters.  The 
count  had  been  so  accustomed  to  a  numerous  suit  of  at- 
tendants, he  did  not  observe  the  parceling  out  of  his 
temperate  meal:  one  bringing  in  the  fowl,  another  the 
bread,  his  neighbor  the  solitary  plate,  and  the  rest  in  like 
order,  so  solicitous  were  the  male  listeners  in  the  kitchen 
to  see  this  wonderful  Russian. 

Thaddeus  partook  but  lightly  of  the  refreshment. 
Being  already  fatigued  in  body,  and  dizzy  with  the  motion 
of  the  vessel,  as  soon  as  the  cloth  was  withdrawn,  he 
ordered  a  night  candle,  and  desired  to  be  shown  to  his 
chamber. 

Jenkins,  whom  the  sight  of  the  embroidered  star  con- 
firmed in  his  decision  that  the  foreigner  must  be  a  person 
of  consequence,  with  increased  agility  whipped  up  the 
portmanteau  and  led  the  way  to  the  sleeping-rooms. 
Here  curiosity  put  on  a  new  form;  the  women  servants, 
determined  to  have  their  wishes  gratified  as  well  as  the 
men,  had  arranged  themselves  on  each  side  of  the  passage 
through  which  the  count  must  pass.  At  so  strange  an 
appearance,  Thaddeus  drew  back ;  but  supposing  that  it 
might  be  a  custom  of  the  country,  he  proceeded  through 
this  fair  bevy,  and  bowed  as  he  walked  along  to  the  low 
courtesies  which  they  continued  to  make,  until  he  entered 
his  apartment  and  closed  the  door. 

The  unhappy  are  ever  restless;  they  hope  in  every 
change  of  situation  to  obtain  some  alteration  in  their  feel 


1  qo  THA  DD  E  US  OF  WA  RSA  W. 

ings.  Thaddeus  was  too  miserable  awake  not  to  view 
with  eagerness  the  bed  on  which  he  trusted  that,  for  a 
few  hours  at  least,  he  might  lose  the  consciousness  of  his 
desolation,  with  its  immediate  suffering. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

THADDEUS'    FIRST  DAY   IN   ENGLAND. 

"When  he  awoke  in  the  morning  his  head  ached,  and 
he  felt  as  unrefreshed  as  when  he  had  lain  down;  he  un- 
drew the  curtain,  and  saw,  from  the  strength  of  the  light,  it 
must  be  mid-day.  He  got  up ;  and  having  dressed  himself, 
descended  to  the  sitting-room,  where  he  found  a  good  fire 
and  the  breakfast  already  placed.  He  rang  the  bell,  and 
walked  to  the  window,  to  observe  the  appearance  of  the 
morning.  A  heavy  snow  had  fallen  during  the  night; 
and  the  sun,  ascended  to  its  meridian,  shone  through  the 
thick  atmosphere  like  a  ball  of  fire.  All  seemed  comfort- 
less without;  and  turning  back  to  the  warm  hearth, 
which  was  blazing  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  he  was 
reseating  himself,  when  Jenkins  brought  in  the  tea-urn. 

"I  hope,  my  lord,"  said  the  waiter,  "that  your  lord- 
ship slept  well  last  night?" 

"Perfectly,  I  thank  you,"  replied  the  count,  unmind- 
ful that  the  man  had  addressed  him  according  to  his  rank; 
"when  you  come  to  remove  these  things,  bring  me  my 

bill." 

Jenkins  bowed  and  withdrew,  congratulating  himself 
on  his  dexterity  in  having  saluted  the  stranger  with  his 

title. 

During  the  absence  of  the  waiter,  Thaddeus  thought  it 
time  to  examine  the  state  of  his  purse.  He  well  recol- 
lected how  he  had  paid  at  Dantzic;  and  from  the  style  in 
which  he  was  served  here,  he  did  not  doubt  that  to  defray 
what  he  had  already  contracted  would  nearly  exhaust  his 
all.  He  emptied  the  contents  of  his  purse  into  his  hands; 
a  guinea  and  some  silver  was  all  that  he  possessed.  A 
flush  of  terror  suffused  itself  over  his  face;  for  he  had 
never  known  the  want  of  money  before,  and  he  trembled 
now  lest  the  charge  should  exceed  his  means  of  payment. 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  '101 

Jenkins  entered  with  the  bill.  On  the  count's  examin- 
ing it,  he  was  pleased  to  rind  it  amounted  to  no  more 
than  the  only  piece  of  gold  his  purse  contained.  He  laid 
it  upon  the  tea-board,  and  putting  half  a  crown  into  the 
hand  of  Jenkins,  who  appeared  waiting  for  something, 
wrapped  his  cloak  round  him  as  he  was  walking  out  of 
the  room. 

"I  suppose,  my  lord,"  cried  Jenkins,  pocketing  the 
money  with  a  smirk,  and  bowing  with  the  things  in  his 
hands,  "we  are  to  have  the  honor  of  seeing  your  lordship 
again,  as  you  leave  your  portmanteau  behind  you?" 

Thaddeus  hesitated  a  few  seconds,  then  again  moving 
toward  the  door,  said,  "I  will  send  for  it." 

"By  what  name,  my  lord?" 

"The  Count  Sobieski." 

Jenkins  immediately  set  down  the  tea-board,  and 
hurrying  after  Thaddeus  along  the  passage,  and  through 
the  coffee-room,  darted  before  him,  and  opening  the  door 
into  the  lobby  for  him  to  go  out,  exclaimed  loud  enough 
for  everybody  to  hear,  "Depend  upon  it,  Count  Sobieski, 
I  will  take  care  of  your  lordship's  baggage." 

Thaddeus,  rather  displeased  at  his  noisy  officiousness, 
only  bent  his  head,  and  proceeded  into  the  street. 

The  air  was  piercing  cold ;  and  on  his  looking  around, 
he  perceived  by  the  disposition  of  the  square  in  which  he 
was  that  it  must  be  a  market-place.  The  booths  and 
stands  were  covered  with  snow,  while  parts  of  the  pave- 
ment were  rendered  nearly  impassable  by  heaps  of  black 
ice,  which  the  market  people  of  the  preceding  day  had 
shoveled  up  out  of  their  way.  He  recollected  it  was  now 
Sunday,  and  consequently  the  improbability  of  finding 
any  cheaper  lodgings  on  that  day.* 

Thaddeus  stood  under  the  piazzas  for  two  or  three 
minutes,  bewildered  on  the  plan  he  should  adopt.  To 
return  to  the  hotel  for  any  purpose  but  to  sleep,  in  the 
present  state  of  his  finances,  would  be  impossible;  he 
therefore  determined,  inclement  as  the  season  was,  if  he 

*  Those  who  remember  the  terrible  winter  of  1794,  will  not  call 
this  description  exaggerated.  That  memorable  winter  was  one  of 
mourning  to  many  in  England.  Some  of  her  own  brave  sons 
perished  amid  the  frozen  dikes  of  Holland  and  the  Netherlands, 
vainly  opposing  the  march  of  the  French  anarchists.  How  strange 
appeared  then  to  him  the  doom  of  nations! 


102  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

could  not  find  a  chapel,  to  walk  the  streets  until  night. 
He  might  then  go  back  to  the  Ilummums  to  his  bed- 
chamber; but  he  resolved  to  quit  it  in  the  morning  for  a 
residence  more  suitable  to  his  slender  means. 

The  wind  blew  keenly  from  the  northeast,  accompanied 
with  a  violent  shower  of  sleet  and  rain;  yet  such  was  the 
abstraction  of  his  mind,  that  he  hardly  observed  its  bitter- 
ness, but  walked  on,  careless  whither  his  feet  led  him, 
until  he  stopped  opposite  St.  Martin's  Church. 

"God  is  my  only  friend!  and  in  any  house  of  his  I 
shall  surely  find  shelter!" 

He  turned  up  the  steps,  and  was  entering  the  porch, 
when  he  met  the  congregation  thronging  out  of  it. 

"Is  the  service  over?"  he  inquired  of  a  decent  old 
woman  who  was  passing  him  down  the  stairs.  The 
woman  started  at  the  question,  asked  her  in  English  by  a 
person  whose  dress  was  so  completely  foreign.  He  re- 
peated it.     Smiling  and  courtesying,  she  replied: 

"Yes,  sir;  and  I  am  sorry  for  it.  Lord  bless  your 
handsome  face,  though  you  be  a  stranger  gentleman,  it 
does  one's  heart  good  to  see  you  so  devoutly  given!" 

Thaddeus  blushed  at  this  personal  compliment,  though 
it  came  from  the  lips  of  a  wrinkled  old  woman;  and  beg- 
ging permission  to  assist  her  down  the  stairs,  he  asked 
when  service  would  begin  again. 

"At  three  o'clock,  sir,  and  may  Heaven  bless  the 
mother  who  bore  so  pious  a  son!" 

While  the  poor  woman  spoke,  she  raised  her  eyes  with  a 
melancholy  resignation.  The  count,  "touched  with  her 
words  and  manner,  almost  unconsciously  to  himself,  con- 
tinued by  her  side  as  she  hobbled  down  the  street. 

His  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  ground,  until  somebody 
pressing  against  him,  made  him  look  round.  He  saw 
that  his  aged  companion  had  just  knocked  at  the  door  of 
a  mean-looking  house,  and  that  she  and  himself  were 
surrounded  by  nearly  a  dozen  people,  besides  boys  who 
through  curiosity  had  followed  them   from  the  church 

porch. 

"Ah!  sweet  sir,"  cried  she,  "these  folks  are  staring  at 
so  fine  a  gentleman  taking  notice  of  age  and  poverty." 

Thaddeus  was  uneasy  at  the  inquisitive  gaze  of  the  by- 
standers; and  his  companion,  observing  the  fluctuation  of 
his  countenance,  added,  as  the  door  was  opened  by  a  little 
girl: 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  103 

"Will  your  honor  walk  in  out  of  the  rain,  and  warm 
yourself  by  my  poor  fire?" 

He  hesitated  a  moment;  then,  accepting  her  invitation, 
bent  his  head  to  get  under  the  humble  doorway,  and  fol- 
lowing her  through  a  neatly  sanded  passage,  entered  a 
small  but  clean  kitchen.  A  little  boy,  who  was  sitting 
on  a  stool  near  the  fire,  uttered  a  scream  at  the  sight  of 
the  stranger,  and  running  up  to  his  grandmother,  rolled 
himself  in  her  cloak,  crying  out : 

"Mammy,  mammy,  take  away  that  black  man!" 

"Be  quiet,  William;  it  is  a  gentleman,  and  no  black 
man.  I  am  so  ashamed,  sir;  but  he  is  only  three  years 
old." 

"I  should  apologize  to  you,"  returned  the  count,  smil- 
ing, "for  introducing  a  person  so  hideous  as  to  frighten 
your  family." 

By  the  time  he  finished  speaking,  the  good  dame  had 
pacified  the  shrieking  boy,  who  stood  trembling,  and  look- 
ing askance  at  the  tremendous  black  gentleman  stroking 
the  head  of  his  pretty  sister. 

"Come  here,  my  dear!"  said  Thaddeus,  seating  himself 
by  the  fire,  and  stretching  out  his  hand  to  the  child.  He 
instantly  buried  his  head  in  his  grandmother's  apron. 

"William!  William!"  cried  his  sister,  pulling  him  by 
the  arm,  "the  gentleman  will  not  hurt  you." 

The  boy  again  lifted  up  his  head.  Thaddeus  threw 
back  his  long  sable  cloak,  and  taking  off  his  cap,  whose 
hearse-like  plumes  he  thought  might  have  terrified  the 
child,  he  laid  it  on  the  ground,  and  again  stretching  forth 
his  arms,  called  the  boy  to  approach  him.  Little  William 
now  looked  steadfastly  in  his  face,  and  then  on  the  cap, 
which  he  had  laid  beside  him;  while  he  grasped  his 
grandmother's  apron  with  one  hand,  he  held  out  the 
other,  half-assured,  toward  the  count.  Thaddeus  took  it, 
and  pressing  it  softly,  pulled  him  gently  to  him,  and 
placed  him  on  his  knee.  "My  little  fellow,"  said  he, 
kissing  him,  "you  are  not  frightened  now?" 

"No,"  said  the  child;  "I  see  you  are  not  the  ugly 
black  man  who  takes  away  naughty  boys.  The  ugly 
black  man  has  a  black  face  and  snakes  on  his  head;  but 
these  are  pretty  curls!"  added  he,  laughing,  and  putting 
his  little  fingers  through  the  thick  auburn  hair  which 
hung  in  neglected  masses  over  the  forehead  of  the  count. 


104  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"I  am  ashamed  that  your  honor  should  sit  in  a  kitchen," 
said  the  old  lady;  "but  I  have  not  a  fire  in  any  other 
room." 

"Yes,"  said  her  granddaughter,  who  was  about  twelve 
years  old;  "grandmother  has  a  nice  first-floor  upstairs, 
but  because  we  have  no  lodgers  there  be  no  fire  there." 

"Be  silent,  Nanny  Robson,"  said  the  dame;  "your 
pertness  teases  the  gentleman." 

"Oh,  not  at  all,"  cried  Thaddeus;  "I  ought  to  thank 
her,  for  she  informs  me  yon  have  lodgings  to  let;  will  you 
allow  me  to  engage  them?" 

"You,  sir!"  cried  Mrs.  Eobson,  thunderstruck;  "for 
what  purpose?  Surely  so  noble  a  gentleman  would  not 
live  in  such  a  place  as  this?" 

"I  would,  Mrs.  Robson:  I  know  not  where  I  could  live 
with  more  comfort;  and  where  comfort  is,  my  good 
madam,  what  signifies  the  costliness  or  plainness  of  the 
dwelling?" 

"Well,  sir,  if  you  be  indeed  serious;  but  I  cannot 
think  you  are;  you  are  certainly  making  a  joke  of  me  for 
my  boldness  in  asking  you  into  my  poor  house." 

"Upon  my  honor,  I  am  not,  Mrs.  Robson.  I  will  gladly 
be  your  lodger  if  you  will  admit  me;  and  to  convince  you 
that  I  am  in  earnest,  my  portmanteau  shall  this  moment 
be  brought  here." 

"Well,  sir,"  resumed  she,  "I  shall  be  honored  in  hav- 
ing you  in  my  house;  but  I  have  no  room  for  any  one  but 
yourself,  not  even  for  a  servant." 

"I  have  no  servant." 

"Then  I  will  wait  on  him,  grandmother,"  cried  the 
little  Nanny;  "do  let  the  gentleman  have  them;  I  am 
sure  he  looks  honest." 

The  woman  colored  at  this  last  observation  of  the  child, 
and  proceeded: 

"Then,  sir,  if  you  should  not  disdain  the  rooms  when 
you  see  them,  I  shall  be  too  happy  in  having  so  good  a 
gentleman  under  my  roof.  Pardon  my  boldness,  sir; 
but  may  I  ask?    I  think  by  your  dress  you  are  a  foreigner?" 

"I  am,"  replied  Thaddeus,  the  radiance  which  played 
over  his  features  contracting  into  a  glow;  "if  you  have  no 
objection  to  take  a  stranger  within  your  doors,  from  this 
hour.  I  shall  consider  your  house  my  home?" 

"As  your  honor  pleases,"  said  Mrs.  Robson;  "my  terms 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  105 

are  half  a  guinea  a  week;  and  I  will  tend  on  you  as 
though  you  were  my  own  son!  for  1  cannot  forget,  excel- 
lent young  gentleman,  the  way  in  which  we  first  met." 

"Then  I  will  leave  you  for  the  present,"  returned  he, 
rising,  and  putting  down  the  little  William,  who  had  been 
amusing  himself  with  examining  the  silver  points  of  the 
star  of  St.  Stanislaus  which  the  count  wore  on  his  breast. 
"In  the  mean  while,"  said  he,  "my  pretty  friend,"  stoop- 
ing to  the  child,  "let  this  bit  of  silver,"  was  just  mount- 
ing to  his  tongue,  as  he  put  his  hand  into  his  pocket  to 
take  out  half  a  crown;  but  he  recollected  that  his  necessi- 
ties would  no  longer  admit  of  such  gifts,  and  drawing  his 
hand  back  with  a  deep  and  bitter  sigh,  he  touched  the 
boy's  cheek  with  his  lips,  and  added,  "let  this  kiss  remind 
you  of  your  new  friend." 

This  was  the  first  time  the  generous  spirit  of  Sobieski 
had  been  restrained;  and  he  suffered  a  pang,  for  the 
poignancy  of  which  he  could  not  account.  His  had  been 
a  life  accustomed  to  acts  of  munificence.  His  grand- 
father's palace  was  the  asylum  of  the  unhappy — his  grand- 
father's purse  a  treasury  for  the  unfortunate.  The  soul 
of  Thaddeus  did  not  degenerate  from  his  noble  relative : 
his  generosity,  begun  in  inclination,  was  nurtured  by 
reflection,  and  strengthened  with  a  daily  exercise  which 
had  rendered  it  a  habit  of  his  nature.  Want  never  ap- 
peared before  him  without  exciting  a  sympathetic  emo- 
tion in  his  heart,  which  never  rested  until  he  had  admin- 
istered every  comfort  in  the  power  of  wealth  to  bestow. 
His  compassion  and  his  purse  were  the  substance  and 
shadow  of  each  other.  The  poor  of  his  country  thronged 
from  every  part  of  the  kingdom  to  receive  pity  and  relief 
at  his  hands.  With  those  houseless  wanderers  he  peopled 
the  new  villages  his  grandfather  had  erected  in  the  midst 
of  lands  which  in  former  times  were  the  haunts  of  wild 
beasts.  Thaddeus  participated  in  the  happiness  of  his 
grateful  tenants,  and  many  were  the  old  men  whose  eyes 
he  had  closed  in  thankfulness  and  peace.  These  honest 
peasants,  even  in  their  dying  moments,  wished  to  give  up 
that  life  in  his  arms  which  he  had  rescued  from  misery. 
He  visited  their  cottage,  he  smoothed  their  pillow;  he 
joined  in  their  prayers;  and  when  their  last  sigh  came  to 
his  ear,  he  raised  the  weeping  family  from  the  dust,  and 
cheered  them  with  pious  exhortations  and   his   kindest 


106  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 

assurances  of  protection.  How  often  has  the  countess 
clasped  her  beloved  son  to  her  breast,  when,  after  a  scene 
like  this,  he  has  returned  home,  the  tears  of  the  dying 
man  and  his  children  yet  wet  upon  his  hand!  how  often 
has  she  strained  him  to  her  heart,  while  floods  of  rapture 
have  poured  from  her  own  eyes!  Heir  to  the  first  fortune 
in  Poland,  he  scarcely  knew  the  means  by  which  he  be- 
stowed all  these  benefits;  and  with  a  soul  as  bounteous  to 
others  as  Heaven  had  been  munificent  to  him,  wherever 
he  moved  he  shed  smiles  and  gifts  around  him.  How  fre- 
quently he  had  said  to  the  palatine,  when  his  carriage- 
wheels  were  chased  by  the  thankful  multitude,  "Oh,  my 
father!  how  can  I  ever  be  sufficiently  grateful  to  God  for 
the  happiness  he  hath  allotted  to  me  in  making  me  the 
dispenser  of  so  many  blessings!  The  gratitude  of  these 
people  overpowers  and  humbles  me  in  my  own  eyes;  what 
have  I  done  to  be  so  eminently  favored  of  Heaven?  I 
tremble  when  I  ask  myself  the  question."  "You  may 
tremble,  my  dear  boy,"  replied  his  grandfather,  "for  in- 
deed the  trial  is  a  severe  one.  Prosperity,  like  adversity, 
is  an  ordeal  of  conduct.  Two  roads  are  before  the  rich 
man — vanity  or  virtue;  you  have  chosen  the  latter,  and 
the  best:  and  may  Heaven  ever  hold  you  in  it!  May 
Heaven  ever  keep  your  heart  generous  and  pure!  Go  on, 
my  dear  Thaddeus,  as  you  have  commenced,  and  you  will 
find  that  your  Creator  hath  bestowed  wealth  upon  you 
not  for  what  you  have  done,  but  as  the  means  of  evincing 
how  well  you  would  prove  yourself  his  faithful  steward." 

This  was  the  fortune  of  Thaddeus;  and  now,  he  who 
had  scattered  thousands  without  counting  them  drew 
back  his  hand  with  something  like  horror  at  his  own  in- 
justice, when  he  was  going  to  give  away  one  little  piece  of 
silver,  which  he  might  want  in  a  day  or  two,  to  defray 
some  indispensable  debt. 

"Mrs.  Robson,"  said  he  as  he  replaced  his  cap  upon 
his  head,  "I  shall  return  before  it  is  dark." 

"Very  well,  sir,"  and  opening  the  door,  he  went  out 
into  the  lane. 

Ignorant  of  the  town,  and  thanking  Providence  for 
having  prepared  him  an  asylum,  he  directed  his  course 
toward  Charing  Cross.  He  looked  about  him  with  deep- 
ened sadness;  the  wet  and  plashy  state  of  the  streets 
gave  to  every  object  so  comfortless  an  appearance,  he 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  107 

could  scarcely  believe  himself  to  be  in  that  London  of 
which  he  had  read  with  so  much  delight.  Where  were 
the  magnificent  buildings  he  expected  to  see  in  the  em- 
porium of  the  world?  Where  that  cleanliness,  and  those 
tokens  of  greatness  and  splendor,  which  had  been  the  ad- 
miration and  boast  of  travelers?  He  could  nowhere  dis- 
cover them ;  all  seemed  parts  of  a  dark,  gloomy,  common- 
looking  city. 

Hardly  heeding  whither  he  went,  he  approached  the 
Horse  Guards;  a  view  of  the  park,  as  it  appears  through 
the  wide  porch,  promised  him  less  unpleasantness  than 
the  dirty  pavement,  and  he  turned  in,  taking  his  way 
along  the  Bird  Cage  Walk.* 

The  trees,  stripped  of  their  leaves,  stood  naked,  and 
dripping  with  molten  snow.  The  season  was  in  unison 
with  the  count's  fate.  He  was  taking  the  bitter  wind  for 
his  repast,  and  quenching  his  thirst  with  the  rain  that  fell 
on  his  pale  and  feverish  lips.  He  felt  the  cutting  blast 
enter  his  soul,  and  shutting  his  eyelids  to  repel  the  tears 
which  were  rising  from  his  heart,  he  walked  faster;  but 
in  spit*  of  himself,  their  drops  mingled  with  the  wet  that 
trickled  from  his  cap  upon  his  face.  One  melancholy 
thought  introduced  another,  until  his  bewildered  mind 
lived  over  again,  in  memory,  every  calamity  which  had 
reduced  him  from  happiness  to  all  this  lonely  misery. 
Two  or  three  heavy  convulsive  sighs  followed  these  reflec- 
tions; and  quickening  his  pace,  he  walked  several  times 
quite  round  the  park.  The  rain  ceased.  But  not  mark- 
ing time,  and  hardly  observing  the  people  who  passed,  he 

*  The  young  readers  of  these  few  preceding  pages  will  not  recog- 
nize this  description  of  St.  Martin's  Lane,  Charing  Cross,  and  St. 
James'  Park,  in  1794,  in  what  they  now  see  there  in  1844.  St.  Martin's 
noble  church  was  then  the  center  of  the  east  side  of  a  long,  narrow, 
and  somewhat  dirty  lane  of  mean  houses,  particularly  in  the  end  be- 
low the  church.  Charing  Cross,  with  its  adjoining  streets,  showed 
nothing  better  than  plain  tradesmen's  shops;  and  it  was  not  till  we 
saw  the  Admiralty,  and  entered  the  Horse  Guards,  that  anything 
presented  itself  worthy  the  great  name  of  London.  The  park  is 
almost  completely  altered.  The  lower  part  of  the  lane  has  totally 
disappeared;  also  its  adjunct,  the  King's  Mews,  where  now  stands 
the  Royal  National  Gallery,  while  the  church  of  St.  Martin's  rears 
its  majestic  portico  and  spire,  no  longer  obscured  by  its  former 
adjacent  common  buildings;  and  the  £>raud  naval  pillar  lately  erected 
to  the  memory  "t  Britain's  hero,  Nelson,  occupies  the  center  of  the 
new  quadrangle;  now  called  Trafalgar  Square. 


108  THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W. 

threw  himself  down  upon  one  of  the  benches,  and  sat  in 
a  musing  posture,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  opposite  tree. 

A  sound  of  voices  approaching  roused  him.  Turning 
his  eyes,  he  saw  the  speakers  were  two  young  men,  and  by 
their  dress  he  judged  they  must  belong  to  the  regiment 
of  a  sentinel  who  was  patroling  at  the  end  of  the  mall. 

''By  heavens!  Barrington,"  cried  one,  "it  is  the  best- 
shaped  boot  I  ever  beheld !  I  have  a  good  mind  to  ask 
^him  whether  it  be  English  make." 

"And  if  it  be,"  replied  the  other,  "you  must  ask  him 
who  shaped  his  legs,  that  you  may  send  yours  to  be 
mended." 

"Who  the  devil  can  see  my  legs  through  that  boot?" 

"Oh,  if  to  veil  them  be  your  reason,  pray  ask  him  im- 
mediately." 

"And  so  I  will,  for  I  think  the  boot  perfection." 

At  these  words,  he  was  making  toward  Sobieski  with 
two  or  three  long  strides,  when  his  companion  pulled  him 
back. 

"Surely,  Harwold,  you  will  not  be  so  ridiculous?  He 
appears  to  be  a  foreigner  of  rank,  and  may  take  offense, 
and  give  you  the  length  of  his  foot!" 

"Curse  him  and  rank  too;  he  is  some  paltry  emigrant, 
I  warrant!  I  care  nothing  about  his  foot  or  his  legs,  but 
I  should  like  to  know  who  made  his  boots!" 

While  he  spoke  he  would  have  dragged  his  companion 
along  with  him,  but  Barrington  broke  from  his  arm;  and 
the  fool,  who  now  thought  himself  dared  to  it,  strode  up 
close  to  the  chair,  and  bowed  to  Thaddeus,  who  (hardly 
crediting  that  he  could  be  the  subject  of  this  dialogue) 
returned  the  salutation  with  a  cold  bend  of  his  head. 

Harwold  looked  a  little  confounded  at  this  haughty  de- 
meanor; and,  once  in  his  life,  blushing  at  his  own  in- 
solence, he  roared  out,  as  if  in  defiance  of  shame : 

"Pray,  sir,  where  did  you  get  your  boots?" 

"Where  I  got  my  sword,  sir,"  replied  Thaddeus 
calmly;  and  rising  from  his  seat,  he  darted  his  eyes  dis- 
dainfully on  the  coxcomb  and  walked  slowly  down  the 
mall.  Surprised  and  shocked  at  such  behavior  in  a 
British  officer,  while  he  moved  away  he  distinctly  heard 
Barrington  laughing  aloud,  and  ridiculing  the  astonished 
and  set-down  air  of  his  impudent  associate. 

This  incident  did  not  so  much  ruffle  the  temper  of 
Thaddeus  as  it  amazed  and  perplexed  him. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  109 

"Is  this  a  specimen,"  thought  he,  "of  a  nation  which 
on  the  Continent  is  venerated  for  courage,  manliness,  and 
generosity?  Well,  I  find  I  have  much  to  learn.  I  must 
go  through  the  ills  of  life  to  estimate  myself  thoroughly; 
and  I  must  study  mankind  in  themselves,  and  not  in  re- 
ports of  them,  to  have  a  true  knowledge  of  what  they 
are." 

This  strange  rencontre  was  of  service  to  him,  by  divert- 
ing his  mind  from  the  intense  contemplation  of  his  situa- 
tion ;  and  as  the  dusk  drew  on,  he  turned  his  steps  toward 
the  Hummums. 

On  entering  the  coffee-room,  he  was  met  by  the  obse- 
quious Jenkins,  who,  being  told  by  Thaddeus  that  he 
wanted  his  baggage  and  a  carriage,  went  for  the  things 
himself,  and  sent  a  boy  for  a  coach. 

A  man  dressed  in  black  was  standing  by  the  chimney, 
and  seemed  to  be  eying  Thaddeus,  as  he  walked  up  and 
down  the  room,  with  great  attention.  Just  as  he  had 
taken  another  turn,  and  so  drew  nearer  the  fireplace,  this 
person  accosted  him  rather  abruptly : 

"Pray,  sir,  is  there  any  news  stirring  abroad?  You 
seem,  sir,  to  come  from  abroad." 

"None  that  I  know  of,  sir." 

"Bless  me,  that's  strange!  I  thought,  sir,  you  came 
from  abroad,  sir;  from  the  Continent,  from  Poland,  sir? 
at  least  the  waiter  said  so,  sir." 

Thaddeus  colored.     "The  waiter,  sir?" 

"I  mean,  sir,"  continued  the  gentleman,  visibly  con- 
fused at  the  dilemma  into  which  he  had  brought  himself, 
"the  waiter  said  you  were  a  count,  sir— a  Polish  count; 
indeed  the  Count  Sobieski!  Hence  I  concluded  that  you 
are  from  Poland.  If  I  have  offended,  I  beg  pardon,  sir; 
but  in  these  times  we  are  anxious  for  every  intelligence." 

Thaddeus  made  no  other  reply  than  a  slight  inclination 
of  his  head,  and  walking  forward  to  see  whether  the  coach 
had  arrived,  he  thought,  whatever  travelers  had  related 
of  the  English,  they  were  the  most  impertinent  people  he 
had  ever  met  with. 

The  stranger  would  not  be  contented  with  what  he  had 
already  said,  but  plucking  up  new  courage,  pursued  the 
count  to  the  glass  door  through  which  he  was  looking, 
and  resumed: 

"I  believe,  sir,  I  am  not  wrong?     You  are  the  Count 


110  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Sobieski;  and  I  have  the  honor  to  be  now  speaking  with 
the  bravest  champion  of  Polish  liberty!" 

Thaddeus  again  bowed.  "I  thank  yon,  sir,  for  the 
compliment  you  intend  me,  but  I  cannot  take  it  to  my- 
self; all  the  men  of  Poland,  old  and  young,  nobles  and 
peasants,  were  her  champions,  equally  sincere,  equally 
brave." 

Nothing  could  silence  the  inquisitive  stranger.  The 
coach  drew  up,  but  he  went  on : 

"Then  I  hope  that  many  of  these  patriots,  besides  your 
excellency,  have  taken  care  to  bring  away  their  wealth 
from  a  land  which  they  must  now  see  is  abandoned  to 
destruction?" 

For  a  moment  Thaddeus  forgot  himself,  indignation 
for  his  country,  and  all  her  rights  and  all  her  sufferings 
rose  in  his  countenance. 

"No,  sir!  not  one  of  those  men,  and  least  of  all  would 
I  have  drawn  one  vital  drop  from  her  heart!  I  left  in 
her  murdered  bosom  all  that  was  dear  to  me — all  that  I 
possessed ;  and  not  until  I  saw  the  chains  brought  before 
my  eyes  that  were  to  lay  her  surviving  sons  in  irons  did  I 
turn  my  back  on  calamities  I  could  no  longer  avert  or 
alleviate." 

The  ardor  of  his  manner  and  the  elevation  of  his  voice 
had  drawn  the  attention  of  every  person  in  the  room  upon 
him,  when  Jenkins  entered  with  his  baggage.  The  door 
being  opened,  Sobieski  sprang  into  the  coach,  and  gladly 
shut  himself  there,  from  a  conversation  which  had 
awakened  all  his  griefs. 

"Ah,  poor  enthusiast!"  exclaimed  his  inquisitor  as  the 
carriage  drove  off.  "It  is  a  pity  that  so  fine  a  young  man 
should  have  made  so  ill  a  use  of  his  birth  and  other 
natural  advantages!" 

"He  appears  to  me,"  observed  an  old  clergyman  who  sat 
in  an  adjoining  box,  "to  have  made  the  best  possible  use 
of  his  natural  advantages;  and  had  I  a  son,  I  would  rather 
hear  him  utter  such  a  sentiment  as  the  one  with  which 
that  young  man  quitted  the  room,  than  see  him  master  of 
millions." 

"Maybe  so,"  cried  the  questioner,  with  a  contemptuous 
glance;  "  'different  minds  incline  to  different  objects!' 
His  has  decided  for  'the  wonderful,  the  wild;'  and  a 
pretty  finale  he  has  made  of  his  choice!" 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  Ill 

"Why,  to  be  sure,"  observed  another  spectator, 
"young  people  should  be  brought  up  with  reasonable 
ideas  of  right  and  wrong,  and  prudence;  nevertheless,  I 
should  not  like  a  son  of  mine  to  run  harum-scarum  through 
my  property,  and  his  own  life;  and  yet  one  cannot  help, 
when  one  hears  such  a  brave  speech  as  that  from  yonder 
Frenchman  just  gone  out — I  say  one  cannot  help  think- 
ing it  very  fine." 

"True,  true,"  cried  the  inquisitor;  "you  are  right,  sir; 
very  fine  indeed,  but  too  fine  to  wear;  it  would  soon  leave 
us  acreless,  as  it  has  done  him;  for  it  seems,  by  his  own 
confession,  he  is  penniless;  and  I  know  that  a  twelve- 
month ago  he  was  an  heir  to  a  fortune  which,  however 
incalculable,  he  has  managed,  with  all  his  talents,  to  see 
the  end  of." 

"Then  he  is  in  distress!"  exclaimed  the  clergyman, 
"and  you  know  him.     What  is  his  name?" 

The  man  colored  at  this  unexpected  inference;  and 
glad  the  company  had  not  attended  to  that  part  of  the 
dialogue  in  which  the  name  of  Sobieski  was  mentioned, 
he  stammered  some  indistinct  words,  took  up  his  hat,  and 
looking  at  his  watch,  begged  pardon,  having  made  an 
appointment,  and  hurried  out  of  the  room  without  speak- 
ing further;  although  tire  good  clergyman,  whose  name 
was  Blackmore,  hastened  after  him,  requesting  to  know 
where  the  young  foreigner  lived. 

"AVho  is  that  spectacled  coxcomb?"  cried  the  reverend 
doctor  as  he  returned  from  his  unavailing  application. 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  replied  the  waiter;  "I  never  saw 
him  in  this  house  before  last  night,  when  he  came  in  late 
to  sleep;  and  this  morning  he  was  in  the  coffee-room  at 
breakfast,  just  as  that  foreign  gentleman  walked  through; 
and  Jenkins  bawling  his  name  out  very  loud,  as  soon  as 
he  was  gone,  this  here  gentleman  asked  him  who  that 
count  was.  I  heard  Jenkins  say  some  Russian  name,  and 
tell  him  he  came  last  night,  and  would  likely  come  back 
again;  and  so  that  there  gentleman  has  been  loitering 
about  all  day  till  now,  when  the  foreign  gentleman  com- 
ing in,  he  spoke  to  him." 

"And  don't  you  know  anything  further  of  this 
foreigner?" 

'No,  sir;  I  forget  what  he  is  called;  but  I  see  Jenkins 


tt~ 


112  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

going  across   the   street;  shall  I  run   after  him   and  ask 


nm 


?" 


'Yon  are  very  obliging,"  returned  the  old  clergyman; 
"but  does  Jenkins  know  where  the  stranger  lives?" 

"No,  sir;  I  am  sure  he  don't." 

"I  am  sorry  for  it,"  sighed  the  kind  questioner;  "then 
your  inquiry  would  be  of  no  use;  his  name  will  not  do 
,  without  his  direction.  Poor  fellow!  he  has  been  unfor- 
tunate, and  I  might  have  befriended  him." 

"Yes,  to  be  sure,  doctor,"  cried  the  first  speaker,  who 
now  rose  to  accompany  him  out;  "it  is  our  duty  to  be- 
friend the  unfortunate;  but  charity  begins  at  home;  and 
as  all's  for  the  best,  perhaps  it  is  lucky  we  did  not  hear 
any  more  about  this  young  fellow.  We  might  have  in- 
volved ourselves  in  a  vast  deal  of  unnecessary  trouble; 
and  you  know  people  from  outlandish  parts  have  no 
claims  upon  us." 

"Certainly,"  replied  the  doctor,  "none  in  the  world, 
excepting  those  which  no  human  creature  can  dispute — 
the  claims  of  nature.  All  mankind  are  born  heirs  of 
suffering;  and  as  joint  inheritors,  if  we  do  not  wipe  away 
each  other's  tears,  it  will  prove  but  a  comfortless  portion." 

"Ah!  doctor,"  cried  his  companion  as  they  separated 
at  the  end  of  Charles  Street,  "you  have  always  the  best 
of  an  argument:  you  have  logic  and  Aristotle  at  your 
finger-ends." 

"No,  my  friend;  my  arguments  are  purely  Christian. 
Nature  is  my  logic,  and  the  Bible  my  teacher." 

"Ah,  there  you  have  me  again.  You  parsons  are  as 
bad  as  the  lawyers;  when  once  you  get  a  poor  sinner 
among  you,  he  finds  it  as  hard  to  get  out  of  the  church  as 
out  of  chancery.  However,  have  it  your  own  way; 
charity  is  your  trade,  and  I  won't  be  in  a  hurry  to  dispute 
the  monopoly.  Good-day!  If  I  stay  much  longer,  you 
will  make  me  believe  that  black  is  white." 

Dr.  Blackmore  shook  him  by  the  hand,  and  wishing 
him  good-evening,  returned  home,  pitying  the  worldli- 
ness  of  his  friend's  mind,  and  musing  on  the  interesting 
stranger,  whom  he  could  not  but  admire,  and  compas- 
sionate with  a  lively  sorrow,  for  he  believed  him  to  be  a 
gentleman,  unhappy  and  unfortunate.  Had  he  known 
that  the  object  of  his  solicitude  was  the  illustrious  subject 
of  many  a  former  eulogium  from  himself,  how  increased 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  113 

would  have  been  his  regret — that  he  had  seen  Count 
Thaddeus  Sobieski,  that  he  had  seen  him  an  exile,  and 
that  he  had  suffered  him  to  pass  out  of  the  reach  of  his 
services! . 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE  EXILE'S   LODGINGS. 

Meanwhile  the  homeless  Sobieski  was  cordially  re- 
ceived by  his  humble  landlady.  He  certainly  never  stood 
in  more  need  of  kindness.  A  slow  fever,  which  had  been 
gradually  creeping  over  him  since  he  quitted  Poland,  soon 
settled  on  his  nerves,  and  reduced  him  to  such  weakness 
that  he  possessed  neither  strength  nor  spirits  to  stir 
abroad. 

Mrs.  Robson  was  sincerely  grieved  at  this  illness  of  her 
guest.  Her  own  son,  the  father  of  the  orphans  she  pro- 
tected, had  died  of  consumption,  and  any  appearance  of 
that  cruel  disorder  was  a  certain  call  upon  her  compassion. 

Thaddeus  gave  himself  up  to  her  management.  He 
had  no  money  for  medical  assistance,  and  to  please  her  he 
took  what  little  medicines  she  prepared.  According  to 
her  advice,  he  remained  for  several  days  shut  up  in  his 
chamber,  with  a  large  fire,  and  the  shutters  closed,  to 
exclude  the  smallest  portion  of  that  air  which  the  good 
woman  thought  had  already  stricken  him  with  death. 

But  all  would  not  do;  her  patient  became  worse  and 
worse.  Frightened  at  the  symptoms,  Mrs.  Robson  begged 
leave  to  send  for  the  kind  apothecary  who  had  attended 
her  deceased  son.  In  this  instance  only  she  found  the 
count  obstinate,  no  arguments,  nor  even  tears,  could  move 
him  to  assent.  When  she  stood  weeping,  and  holding  his 
burning  hand,  his  answer  was  constantly  the  same. 

"My  excellent  Mrs.  Robson,  do  not  grieve  on  my  ac- 
count; I  am  not  in  the  danger  you  think;  I  shall  do  very 
well  with  your  assistance." 

"No,  no;  I  see  death  in  your  eyes.  Can  I  feel  this 
hand  and  see  that  hectic  cheek  without  beholding  your 
grave,  as  it  were,  opening  before  me?" 

She  was  not  much  mistaken;  fur  during  the  night  after 
this  debate  Thaddeus  grew  so  delirious  that,  no  longer 


114  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

able  to  snbdue  her  terrors,  she  sent  for  the  apothecary  to 
come  instantly  to  her  house. 

"Oh,  doctor!"  cried  she,  while  he  ascended  the  stairs, 
"I  have  the  best  young  gentleman  ever  the  sun  shone  on 
dying  in  that  room !  He  would  not  let  me  send  for  you ; 
and  now  he  is  raving  like  a  mad  creature." 

Mr.  Vincent  entered  the  count's  humble  apartment, 
and  undrew  the  curtains  of  the  bed.  Exhausted  by  de- 
lirium, Thaddeus  had  sunk  senseless  on  his  pillow.  At 
this  sight,  supposing  him  dead,  Mrs.  Robson  uttered  a 
shriek,  which  was  echoed  by  the  cries  of  the  little  William, 
Avho  stood  near  his  grandmother. 

"Hush!  my  good  woman,"  said  the  doctor;  "the  gen- 
tleman is  not  dead.  Leave  the  room  till  you  have  re- 
covered yourself,  and  I  will  engage  that  you  shall  see  him 
alive  when  you  return." 

Blessing  these  words  she  quitted  the  room  with  her 
grandson. 

On  entering  the  chamber,  Mr.  Vincent  had  felt  that  its 
hot  and  stifling  atmosphere  must  augment  the  fever  of  his 
patient;  and  before  he  attempted  to  disturb  him  from  the 
temporary  rest  of  insensibility,  he  opened  the  window 
shutters  and  also  the  room  door  wide  enough  to  admit  the 
air  from  the  adjoining  apartment.  Pulling  the  heavy 
clothes  from  the  count's  bosom  he  raised  his  head  on  his 
arm  and  poured  some  drops  into  his  mouth.  Sobieski 
opened  his  eyes  and  uttered  a  few  incoherent  words;  but 
he  did  not  rave,  he  only  wandered,  and  appeared  to  know 
that  he  did  so,  for  he  several  times  stopped  in  the  midst 
of  some  confused  speech,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  fore- 
head, strove  to  recollect  himself. 

Mrs.  Robson  soon  after  reentered  the  ro».m,  and  wept 
out  her  thanks  to  the  apothecary,  whom  sh3  revered  as 
almost  a  worker  of  miracles. 

"I  must  bleed  him,  Mrs.  Robson,"  continued  he;  "and 
for  that  purpose  shall  go  home  for  my  assistant  and 
lancets;  but  in  the  mean  while  I  charge  you  to  let  every- 
thing remain  in  the  state  I  have  left  it.  The  heat  alone 
Avould  have  given  a  fever  to  a  man  in  health." 

When  the  apothecary  returned,  he  saw  that  his  com- 
mands had  been  strictly  obeyed;  and  rinding  that  the 
change  of  atmosphere  had  wrought  the  expected  altera- 
tion in  his  patient,  he  took  his  arm  without  difficulty  and 


THADDEtTS  OF  WARSAW.  115 

bled  him.     At  the  end  of  the  operation  Thaddeus  again 
fainted. 

"Poor  gentleman!"  cried  Mr.  Vincent,  binding  up  the 
arm.  "Look  here,  Tom"  (pointing  to  the  scars  on  the 
count's  shoulder  and  breast);  "see  what  terrible  cuts  have 
been  here!  This  has  not  been  playing  at  soldiers!  Who 
is  your  lodger,  Mrs.  Eobson?" 

"His  name  is  Constantine,  Mr.  Vincent;  but  for 
Heaven's  sake  recover  him  from  that  swoon." 

Mr.  Vincent  poured  more  drops  into  his  mouth ;  and  a 
minute  afterward  he  opened  his  eyes,  divested  of  their 
feverish  glare,  but  still  dull  and  heavy.  He  spoke  to  Mrs. 
Robson  by  her  name,  which  gave  her  such  delight  that 
she  caught  his  hands  to  her  lips  and  burst  aagin  into 
tears.  The  action  was  so  abrupt  and  violent  that  it  made 
him  feel  the  stiffness  of  his  arm.  Casting  his  eyes  toward 
the  surgeon's  he  conjectured  what  had  been  his  state,  and 
what  the  consequence. 

"Come,  Mrs.  Robson,"  said  the  apothecary,  "you  must 
not  disturb  the  gentleman.  How  do  you  find  yourself, 
sir?" 

As  the  deed  could  not  be  recalled,  Thaddeus  thanked 
the  doctor  for  the  service  he  had  received,  and  said  a  few 
kind  and  grateful  words  to  his  good  hostess. 

Mr.  Vincent  was  glad  to  see  so  promising  an  issue  to  his 
proceedings,  and  soon  after  retired  with  his  assistant  and 
Mrs.  Robson,  to  give  further  directions. 

On  entering  the  parlor  she  threw  herself  into  a  chair 
and  broke  into  a  paroxysm  of  lamentations. 

"My  good  woman,  what  is  all  this  about?"  inquired 
the  doctor.     "Is  not  my  patient  better?" 

"Yes,"  cried  she,  drying  her  eyes;  "but  the  whole  scene 
puts  me  so  in  mind  of  the  last  moments  of  my  poor  mis- 
guided son  that  the  very  sight  of  it  goes  through  my 
heart  like  a  knife.  Oh !  had  my  boy  been  as  good  as  that 
dear  gentleman,  had  he  been  as  well  prepared  to  die,  I 
think  I  would  scarcely  have  grieved.  Yet  Heaven  spare 
Mr.  Constantine.     Will  he  live?" 

"I  hope  so,  Mrs.  Robson.  His  fever  is  high;  but  he  is 
young,  and  with  extreme  care  we  may  preserve  him." 

"The  Lord  grant  it!"  cried  she,  'for  he  is  the  best 
gentleman  I  ever  beheld.  He  has  been  above  a  week 
with  me;  and  till  this  night,  in  which  he  lost  his  senses, 


& 


110  THABDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

though  hardly  able  to  breathe  or  see,  he  has  read  ont  of 
books  which  he  brought  with  him;  and  good  books  too : 
for  it  was  but  yesterday  morning  that  I  saw  the  dear  soul 
sitting  by  the  fire  with  a  book  on  the  table,  which  he  had 
been  studying  for  an  hour.  As  I  was  dusting  about,  I 
saw  him  lay  his  head  down  on  it,  and  put  his  hand  to  his 
temples.  'Alas!  sir,'  said  I,  'you  tease  your  brains  with 
these  books  of  learning  when  you  ought  to  be  taking  rest.' 
'No,  Mrs.  Robson,'  returned  he,  with  a  sweet  smile,  'it  is 
this  book  which  brings  me  rest.  I  may  amuse  myself 
with  others,  but  this  alone  contains  perfect  beauty,  per- 
fect wisdom,  and  perfect  peace.  It  is  the  only  infallible 
soother  of  human  sorrows.'  He  closed  it  and  put  it  on 
the  chimney-piece;  and  when  I  looked  at  it  afterward,  I 
found  it  was  the  Bible.  Can  you  wonder  that  I  should 
love  so  excellent  a  gentleman?" 

"You  have  given  a  strange  account  of  him,"  replied 
Vincent.  "I  hope  he  is  not  a  twaddler;*  if  so,  I  shall 
despair  of  his  cure,  and  think  his  delirium  had  another 
cause  besides  fever." 

"I  don't  understand  you,  sir.  He  is  a  Christian,  and 
as  good  a  reasonable,  sweet-tempered  gentleman  as  ever 
came  into  a  house.  Alas !  I  believe  he  is  most  likely  a 
papist;  though  they  say  papists  don't  read  the  Bible,  but 
worship  images." 

"Why,  what  reason  have  you  to  suppose  that?  He's 
an  Englishman,  is  he  not?" 

"No,  he  is  an  emigrant." 

"An  emigrant!  Oh,  ho!"  cried  Mr.  Vincent,  with  a 
contemptuous  twirl  of  his  lip.  "What,  a  poor  French- 
man! Good  Lord!  how  this  town  is  overrun  with  these 
fellows!" 

"No,  doctor,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Robson,  greatly  hurt  at 
this  scorn  to  her  lodger,  whom  she  really  loved;  "what- 
ever he  be,  he  is  not  poor,  for  he  has  a  power  of  fine 
things;  he  has  got  a  watch  all  over  diamonds,  and  dia- 
mond rings,  and  diamond  pictures  without  number.  So, 
doctor,  you  need  not  fear  you  are  attending  him  for 
charity;  no,  I  would  sell  my  gown  first." 

"Nay,  don't  be  offended,  Mrs.   Robson;  I   meant  no 

*  A  term  of  derision,  forty  years  ago,  among  unthinking  person* 
when  speaking  of  eminently  religious  people. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  117 

offense,"  returned  lie,  much  mollified  by  this  explanation; 
"but,  really,  when  we  see  the  bread  that  should  feed  our 
children  and  our  own  poor  eaten  up  by  a  parcel  of  lazy 
French  drones — all  sans  culottes*  in  disguise,  for  aught 
we  know,  who  cover  our  land,  and  destroy  its  produce 
like  a  swarm  of  filthy  locusts — we  should  be  fools  not  to 
murmur.  But  Mr. — Mr. — what  do  you  call  him,  Mrs. 
Kobson?  is  a  different  sort  of  a  body." 

"Mr.  Constautine,"  replied  she,  "and  indeed  he  is;  and 
no  doubt,  when  you  recover  him,  he  will  pay  you  as 
though  he  were  in  his  own  country." 

This  last  assertion  banished  all  remaining  suspicion 
from  the  mind  of  the  apothecary;  and,  after  giving  the 
good  woman  what  orders  he  thought  requisite,  he  returned 
home,  promising  to  call  again  that  evening. 

Mrs.  Eobson  went  upstairs  to  the  count's  chamber  with 
other  sentiments  to  her  sapient  doctor  than  those  with 
which  she  came  down.  She  well  recollected  the  substance 
of  his  discourse,  and  she  gathered  from  it  that,  however 
clever  he  might  be  in  his  profession,  he  was  a  hard-hearted 
man,  who  would  rather  see  a  fellow-creature  perish  than 
administer  relief  to  him  without  a  reward.  She  had  paid 
him  to  the  uttermost  farthing  for  her  poor  son. 

But  here  Mrs.  Robson  was  mistaken.  She  did  him 
justice  in  esteeming  his  medical  abilities,  which  were 
great.  He  had  made  medicine  the  study  of  his  life,  and 
not  allowing  any  other  occupation  to  disturb  his  attention, 
he  became  master  of  that  science,  but  remained  ignorant 
of  every  other  with  which  it  had  no  connection.  He  was 
the  lather  of  a  family,  and,  in  the  usual  acceptation  of  the 
term,  a  very  good  sort  of  a  man.  He  preferred  his 
country  to  every  other,  because  it  was  his  country;  he 
loved  his  wife  and  his  children;  he  was  kind  to  the  poor, 
to  whom  he  gave  his  advice  gratis,  and  letters  to  the  dis- 
pensary for  drugs;  and  when  he  had  any  broken  victuals 
to  spare,  he  desired  that  they  might  be  divided  among 
them;  but  he  seldom  caught  his  maid  obeying  this  part  of 
his  commands  without  reprimanding  her  for  her  extrava- 

*  The  democratic  rabble  were  commonly  so  called  at  that  early 
period  of  the  French  Revolution;  and  certainly  some  of  their  dem- 
agogues did  cross  the  Channel  at  times,  counterfeiting  themselves 
to  be  loyal  emigrants,  while  assiduously  disseminating  their  destruc- 
tive principles  wherever  they  could  find  an  entrance. 


118  TffADDEVS  OP  WARSAW. 

gance,  in  giving  away  what  ought  to  be  eaten  in  the 
kitchen;  "in  these  times,  it  was  a  shame  to  waste  a 
crumb,  and  the  careless  hussy  would  come  to  want  for 
thinking  so  lightly  of  other  people's  property." 

Thus,  like  many  in  the  world,  he  was  a  loyal  citizen  by 
habit,  an  affectionate  father  from  nature,  and  a  man  of 
charity  because  he  now  and  then  felt  pity,  and  now  and 
then  heard  it  preached  from  the  pulpit.  He  was  exhorted 
to  be  pious,  and  to  pour  wine  and  oil  into  the  wounds  of 
his  neighbor;  but  it  never  once  struck  him  that  piety  ex- 
tended further  than  going  to  church,  mumbling  his 
prayers,  and  forgetting  the  sermon,  through  most  of  which 
he  generally  slept;  and  his  commentaries  on  the  good 
Samaritan  were  not  more  extensive,  for  it  was  so  difficult 
to  make  him  comprehend  who  was  his  neighbor  that  the 
subject  of  the  argument  might  have  been  sick,  dead,  and 
buried  before  he  could  be  persuaded  that  he  or  she  had 
any  claims  on  his  care.  Indeed,  his  "charity  began  at 
home;"  and  it  was  so  fond  of  its  residence,  that  it  stopped 
there.  To  have  been  born  on  the  other  side  of  the 
British  Channel,  spread  an  ocean  between  every  poor 
foreigner  and  Mr.  Vincent's  purse  which  the  swiftest 
wings  of  charity  could  never  cross.  "He  saw  no  reason," 
he  said,  "for  feeding  the  natural  enemies  of  our  country. 
Would  any  man  be  mad  enough  to  take  the  meat  from  his 
children's  mouths  and  throw  it  to  a  swarm  of  wolves  just 
landed  on  the  coast?"  "These  wolves"  was  his  favorite 
metaphor  when  he  spoke  of  the  unhappy  French,  or  of 
any  other  penniless  strangers  that  came  in  his  way. 

After  this  explanation,  it  may  appear  paradoxical  to 
mention  an  inconsistency  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Vincent 
which  never  permitted  him  to  discover  the  above  Cainish 
mark  of  outlawry  upon  a  wealthy  visitor,  of  whatever 
country.  In  fact,  it  was  with  him  as  with  many:  riches 
were  a  splendid  and  thick  robe  that  concealed  all  blem- 
ishes; take  it  away,  and  probably  the  poor  stripped  wretch 
would  be  treated  worse  than  a  criminal. 

That  his  new  patient  possessed  some  property  was 
sufficient  to  insure  the  respect  and  medical  skill  of  Mr. 
Vincent;  and  when  he  entered  his  own  house,  he  told  his 
wife  he  had  found  "a  very  good  job  at  Mrs.  Robson's,  in 
the  illness  of  her  lodger — a  foreigner  of  some  sort,"  he 
said,  "who,  by  her  account,  had  feathered  his  nest  well  in 


TEA  DMSU8  OF  WARSA  W.  119 

the  spoils  of  battle  (like  Moore's  honest  Irishman)  with 
jewels  and  gold."  So  much  for  the  accuracy  of  most 
quotations  adapted  according  to  the  convenience  of  the 
speaker. 

When  the  Count  Sobieski  quitted  the  Hummums,  on 
the  evening  in  which  he  brought  away  his  baggage,  he 
was  so  disconcerted  by  the  impertinence  of  the  man  who 
accosted  him  there  that  he  determined  not  to  expose 
himself  to  a  similar  insult  by  retaining  a  title  which  might 
subject  him  to  the  curiosity  of  the  insolent  and  insensible; 
and,  therefore,  when  Mrs.  Kobson  asked  him  how  she 
should  address  him,  as  he  was  averse  to  assume  a  feigned 
name,  he  merely  said  Mr.  Constantine. 

Under  that  unobtrusive  character,  he  hoped  in  time  to 
accommodate  his  feelings  to  the  change  of  fortune  which 
Providence  had  allotted  to  him.  He  must  forget  his 
nobility,  his  pride,  and  his  sensibility;  he  must  earn  his 
subsistence.  But  by  what  means?  He  was  ignorant  of 
business;  and  he  knew  not  how  to  turn  his  accomplish- 
ments to  account.  Such  were  his  meditations,  until  ill- 
ness and  delirium  deprived  him  of  them  and  of  reason 
together. 

At  the  expiration  of  a  week,  in  which  Mr.  Vincent  at- 
tended his  patient  very  regularly,  Sobieski  was  able  to 
remove  into  the  front  room;  but  uneasiness  about  the 
debts  he  had  so  unintentionally  incurred  retarded  his 
recovery,  and  made  his  hours  pass  away  in  cheerless  mus- 
ings on  his  poor  means  of  repaying  the  good  widow  and  o' 
satisfying  the  avidity  of  the  apothecary.  Pecuniary 
obligation  was  a  load  to  which  he  was  unaccustomed;  and 
once  or  twice  the  wish  almost  escaped  his  heart  that  he 
had  died. 

Whenever  he  was  left  to  think,  such  were  his  reflec- 
tions. Mrs.  Kobson  discovered  that  he  appeared  more 
feverish  and  had  worse  nights  after  being  much  alone 
during  the  day,  and  therefore  contrived,  though  she  was 
obliged  to  be  in  her  little  shop,  to  leave  either  Nanny  to 
attend  his  wants  or  little  William  to  amuse  him. 

This  child,  by  its  uncommon  quickness  and  artless 
manner,  gained  upon  the  count,  who  was  ever  alive  to 
helplessness  and  innocence.  Children  and  animals  had 
always  found  a  friend  and  protector  in  him.  From  the 
"majestic  war-horse,  with  his  neck  clothed  in  thunder," 


1 20  THA  DDEVS  OF  WA  RSA  W. 

to  "the  poor  beetle  that  we  tread  upon" — every  creature 
of  creation  met  an  advocate  of  mercy  in  his  breast;  and 
as  human  nature  is  prone  to  love  what  it  has  been  kind 
to,  Thaddeus  never  saw  either  children,  dogs,  or  even  that 
poor  slandered  and  abused  animal,  the  cat,  without  show- 
ing them  some  spontaneous  act  of  attention. 

Whatever  of  his  affections  he  could  spare  from  memory, 
the  count  lavished  upon  the  little  William.  The  child 
hardly  ever  left  his  side,  where  he  sat  on  a  stool,  prat- 
tling about  anything  that  came  into  his  head ;  or,  seated 
on  his  knee,  followed  with  his  eyes  and  playful  fingers  the 
hand  of  Thaddeus,  while  he  sketched  a  horse  or  a  soldier 
for  his  pretty  companion. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

A   ROBBERY   AND  ITS   CONSEQUENCES. 

By  these  means  Thaddeus  slowly  acquired  sufficient 
strength  to  allow  him  to  quit  his  dressing-gown,  and  pre- 
pare for  a  walk. 

A  hard  frost  had  succeeded  to  the  chilling  damps  of 
November;  and  looking  out  of  the  window,  he  longed, 
almost  eagerly,  to  inhale  again  the  fresh  air.  After  some 
tender  altercations  with  Mrs.  Kobson,  who  feared  to  trust 
him  even  downstairs,  he  at  lengh  conquered;  and  taking 
the  little  William  by  his  hand  folded  his  pelisse  round 
him,  and  promising  to  venture  no  further  than  the  King's 
Mews,  was  suffered  to  go  out. 

As  he  expected,  he  found  the  keen  breeze  act  like  a 
charm  on  his  debilitated  frame;  and  with  braced  nerves 
and  exhilarated  spirits,  he  walked  twice  up  and  down  the 
place,  Avhile  his  companion  played  before  him,  throwing 
stones,  and  running  to  pick  them  up.  At  this  moment 
one  of  the  king's  carriages,  pursued  by  a  concourse  of 
people,  suddenly  drove  in  at  the  Charing  Cross  gate. 
The  frightened  child  screamed  and  fell.  Thaddeus 
darted  forward,  and  seizing  the  heads  of  the  horses,  which 
were  within  a  yard  of  the  boy,  stopped  them ;  meanwhile, 
the  mob  gathering  about,  one  of  them  raised  William,  who 
continued  his  cries.     The  count  now  let  go  the  reins,  and 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  121 

for  a  few  minutes  tried  to  pacify  his  little  charge;  but 
finding  that  his  alarm  and  shrieks  were  not  to  be  quelled, 
and  that  his  own  figure,  from  its  singularity  of  dress  (his 
high  cap  and  plume  adding  to  its  height),  drew  on  him 
the  whole  attention  of  the  people,  he  took  the  trembling 
child  in  his  arms,  and  walking  through  the  mews,  was 
followed  by  some  of  the  bystanders  to  the  very  door  of 
Mrs.  Robson's  shop. 

Seeing  the  people,  and  her  grandson  sobbing  on  the 
breast  of  her  guest,  she  ran  out,  and  hastily  asked  what 
had  happened.  Thaddeus  simply  answered  that  the 
child  had  been  frightened.  But  when  they  entered  the 
house,  and  he  had  thrown  himself  exhausted  on  a  seat, 
William,  as  he  stood  by  his  knee,  told  his  grandmother 
that  if  Mr.  Constantine  had  not  stopped  the  horses,  he 
must  have  been  run  over.  The  count  was  now  obliged  to 
relate  the  whole  story,  which  ended  with  the  blessings  of 
the  poor  woman,  for  his  goodness  in  risking  his  own  life 
for  the  preservation  of  her  darling  child. 

Thaddeus  in  vain  assured  her  the  action  deserved  no 
thanks. 

"Well,"  cried  she,  "it  is  like  yourself,  Mr.  Constantine: 
you  think  all  your  good  deeds  nothing;  and  yet  any  odd 
little  thing  I  can  do,  out  of  pure  love  to  serve  you,  you 
cry  up  to  the  skies.  However,  we  won't  fall  out;  I  say, 
Heaven  bless  }rou!  and  that  is  enough.  Has  your  walk 
refreshed  you?  But  I  need  not  ask;  you  have  got  a  fine 
color." 

"Yes,"  returned  he,  rising  and  taking  off  his  cap  and 
cloak,  "it  has  put  me  in  a  glow,  and  made  me  quite  an- 
other creature."  As  he  finished  speaking,  he  dropped 
the  things  from  the  hand  that  held  them,  and  staggered 
back  a  few  paces  against  the  wall. 

"Good  Lord!  what  is  the  matter?"  cried  Mrs.  Robson, 
looking  in  his  face,  which  was  now  pale  as  death;  "what 
is  the  matter?" 

"Nothing,  nothing,"  returned  he,  recovering  himself 
and  gathering  up  the  cloak  he  had  let  fall;  "don't  mind 
me,  Mrs.  Robson;  nothing;"  and  he  was  leaving  the 
kitchen,  but  she  followed  him,  terrified  at  his  look  and 
manner. 

"Pray,  Mr.  Constantine!" 

"Nay,  my  dear  madam,"  said  he,  leading  her  back,  "1 


122  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

am  not  well;  I  believe  my  walk  has  overcome  me.  Let 
me  be  a  few  minutes  alone,  till  I  have  recovered  myself. 
It  will  oblige  me." 

"Well,  sir,  as  you  please!"  and  then,  laying  her 
withered  hand  fearfully  upon  his  arm,  "forgive  me,  clear 
sir,"  said  she,  "if  my  attentions  are  troublesome.  In- 
deed, I  fear  that  sometimes  great  love  appears  like  great 
impertinence;  I  would  always  be  serving  you,  and  there- 
fore I  often  forget  the  wide  difference  between  your 
honor's  station  and  mine." 

The  count  could  only  press  her  hand  gratefully,  and 
with  an  emotion  which  made  him  hurry  upstairs  to  hide. 
When  in  his  own  room,  he  shut  the  door,  and  cast  a  wild 
and  inquisitive  gaze  around  the  apartment;  then,  throw- 
ing himself  into  a  chair,  he  struck  his  head  with  his  hand, 
and  exclaimed,  "It  is  gone!  What  will  become  of  me? — 
of  this  poor  woman,  Avhose  substance  I  have  consumed?" 

It  was  true;  the  watch,  by  the  sale  of  which  he  had 
calculated  to  defray  the  charges  of  his  illness,  was  indeed 
lost  A  villain  in  the  crowd,  having  perceived  the  spark- 
ling of  the  chain,  had  taken  it  unobserved  from  his  side; 
and  he  knew  nothing  of  his  loss  until,  feeling  for  his 
watch  to  see  the  hour,  he  discovered  his  misfortune. 

The  shock  went  like  a  stroke  of  electricity  through  his 
frame;  but  it  was  not  until  the  last  glimmering  of  hope 
was  extinguished,  on  examining  his  room  where  he 
thought  he  might  have  left  it,  that  he  saw  the  full  horror 
of  his  situation. 

He  sat  for  some  minutes,  absorbed,  and  almost  afraid  to 
think.  It  was  not  his  own,  but  the  necessities  of  the 
poor  woman,  who  had,  perhaps,  incurred  debts  on  herself 
to  afford  him  comforts,  which  bore  so  hard  upon  him.  At 
last,  rising  from  his  seat,  he  exclaimed: 

"I  must  determine  on  something.  Since  this  is  gone, 
I  must  seek  what  else  I  have  to  part  with,  for  I  cannot 
long  bear  my  present  feelings!" 

He  opened  the  drawer  which  contained  his  few 
valuables. 

With  a  trembling  hand  he  took  them  out  one  by  one. 
There  were  several  trinkets  which  had  been  given  to  him 
by  his  mother;  and  a  pair  oi  inlaid  pistols,  which  his 
grandfather  put  into  his  belt  on  the  morning  of  the  dread- 
ful 10th  of  October;  his  miniature  iay  beneath  them:  the 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  123 

mild  eyes  of  the  palatine  seemed  beaming  with  affection 
upon  his  grandson.  Thaddeus  snatched  it  up,  kissed  it 
fervently,  and  then  laid  it  hack  into  the  drawer,  while  he 
hid  his  face  with  his  hands. 

When  he  recovered  himself,  he  replaced  the  pistols, 
believing  that  it  would  be  sacrilege  to  part  with  them. 
Without  allowing  himself  time  to  think,  he  put  a  gold 
pencil-case  and  a  pair  of  brilliant  sleeve-buttons  into  his 
waistcoat  pocket. 

He  descended  the  stairs  with  a  soft  step,  and  passing 
the  kitchen  door  unperceived  by  his  landlady,  crossed 
through  a  little  court;  and  then  anxiously  looking  from 
right  to  left,  in  quest  of  some  shop  where  he  might  proba- 
bly dispose  of  the  trinkets,  he  took  his  way  up  Castle 
Street,  and  along  Leicester  Square. 

When  he  turned  up  the  first  street  to  his  right,  he  was 
impeded  by  two  persons  who  stood  in  his  path,  the  one 
selling,  the  other  buying  a  hat.  The  thought  immediately 
struck  Thaddeus  to  ask  one  of  these  men  (who  appeared 
to  be  a  Jew,  and  a  vender  of  clothes)  to  purchase  his 
pelisse.  By  parting  with  a  thing  to  which  he  annexed 
no  more  value  than  the  warmth  it  afforded  him,  he  should 
possibly  spare  himself  the  pain,  for  this  time  at  least,  of 
sacrificing  those  gifts  of  his  mother,  which  had  been  be- 
stowed upon  him  in  happeir  days,  and  hallowed  by  her 
caresses. 

He  did  not  permit  himself  to  hesitate,  but  desired  the 
Jew  to  follow  him  into  a  neighboring  court.  The  man 
obeyed;  and  having  no  ideas  independent  of  his  trade, 
asked  the  count  what  he  wanted  to  buy. 

"Nothing;  I  want  to  sell  this  pelisse,"  returned  he, 
opening  it. 

The  Jew,  without  any  ceremony,  inspected  its  covering 
and  its  lining  of  fur. 

"Ay,  I  see:  black  cloth  and  sable;  but  who  would  buy 
it  of  me?  An  embroidered  collar!  nobody  wears  such 
things  here." 

"Then  I  am  answered,"  replied  Thaddeus. 

"Stop,  sir,"  cried  the  Jew.  pursuing  him,  "what  will 
you  take  for  it?" 

"What  would  you  give  me?" 

"Let  me  see.  It  is  very  long  and  wide.  At  the  utmost 
I  cannot  offer  you  more  than  five  guineas," 


124  TEABDEVS  OF  WARSAW. 

A  few  months  ago  it  had  cost  the  count  a  hundred ;  but 
glad  to  get  any  money,  however  small,  he  readily  closed 
with  the  man's  price;  and  taking  off  the  cloak,  gave  it  to 
him,  and  put  the  guineas  into  his  pocket. 

He  had  not  walked  much  further  before  the  piercing 
cold  of  the  evening,  and  a  shower  of  snow,  which  began 
to  fall,  made  him  feel  the  effects  of  his  loss;  however, 
that  did  not  annoy  him ;  he  had  been  too  heavily  assailed 
by  the  pitiless  rigors  of  misfortune  to  regard  the  pelting 
of  the  elements.  While  the  wind  blew  in  his  face,  and 
the  sleet  falling  on  his  dress,  lodged  in  its  lapels,  he  went 
forward,  calculating  whether  it  were  likely  that  this 
money,  with  the  few  shillings  he  yet  possessed,  would  be 
sufficient  to  discharge  what  he  owed.  Unused  as  he  had 
been  to  all  kinds  of  expenditure  which  required  attention, 
he  supposed,  from  what  he  had  already  seen  of  a  com- 
merce with  the  world,  that  the  sum  he  had  received  from 
the  Jew  was  not  above  half  what  he  needed;  and  with  a 
beating  heart  he  walked  toward  one  of  those  shops  which 
Mrs.  Kobson  had  described,  when  speaking  of  the  irregu- 
larities  of  her  son,  who  had  nearly  reduced  her  to  beggary. 

The  candles  were  lit.  And  as  he  hovered  about  the 
door,  he  distinctly  saw  the  master  through  the  glass, 
assorting  some  parcels  on  the  counter.  He  was  a  gentle- 
man-like man,  and  the  count's  feelings  took  quite  a  differ- 
ent turn  from  those  with  which  he  had  accosted  the  Jew, 
who,  being  a  low,  sordid  wretch,  looked  upon  the  people 
with  whom  he  trafficked  as  mere  purveyors  to  his  profit. 
Thaddeus  felt  little  repugnance  at  bargaining  with  him; 
but  the  sight  of  a  respectable  person,  before  whom  he  wa? 
to  present  himself  as  a  man  in  poverty,  as  one  who,  in  a 
manner,  appealed  to  charity,  all  at  once  overcame  the 
resolution  of  a  son  of  Sobieski,  and  he  debated  whether  or 
not  he  should  return.  Mrs.  Eobson,  and  her  probable 
distresses,  rose  before  him;  and  fearful  of  trusting  his 
pride  any  further,  he  pulled  his  cap  over  his  face,  and 
entered  the  shop. 

The  man  bowed  very  civilly  on  his  entrance,  and  re- 
quested to  be  honored  with  his  commands.  Thaddeus 
felt  his  face  glow;  but  indignant  at  his  own  weakness,  he 
laid  the  gold  case  on  the  counter,  and  said,  in  a  voice 
which,  notwithstanding  his  emotion,  he  constrained  to 
be  without  appearance  of  confusion,  "I  want  to  part  with 
this." 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  125 

Astonished  at  the  dignity  of  the  applicant's  air,  and  the 
nobility  of  his  dress  (for  the  star  did  not  escape  the  shop- 
keeper's eye),  he  looked  at  him  for  a  moment,  holding 
the  case  in  his  hand.  Hurt  by  the  steadiness  of  his  gaze, 
the  count  rather  haughtily  repeated  what  he  had  said. 
The  man  hesitated  no  longer.  He  had  been  accustomed 
to  similar  requests  from  the  emigrant  French  noblesse, 
but  there  was  a  loftiness  and  aspect  of  authority  in  the 
countenance  and  mien  of  this  person  which  surprised  and 
awed  him ;  and  with  a  respect  which  even  the  application 
could  not  counteract,  he  opened  the  case,  and  inquired  of 
Thaddeus  what  was  the  price  he  affixed  to  it. 

"I  leave  that  to  you,"  replied  he. 

"The  gold  is  pure,"  returned  the  man,  "but  it  is  very 
thin;  I  cannot  give  more  than  three  guineas.  Though 
the  workmanship  is  fine,  it  is  not  in  the  fashion  of  Eng- 
land, and  will  be  of  no  benefit  to  me  till  melted." 

"You  may  have  it,"  said  Thaddeus,  hardly  able  to 
articulate,  while  the  gift  of  his  mother  was  passing  into  a 
stranger's  hand. 

The  man  directly  paid  him  down  the  money,  and  the 
count,  with  a  bursting  heart,  darted  out  of  the  shop. 

Mrs.  Eobson  was  shutting  up  the  windows  of  her  little 
parlor,  when  he  hastily  passed  her  and  glided  up  the 
stairs.  Hardly  believing  her  senses,  she  hastened  after 
him,  and  just  got  into  the  room  as  he  drank  off  a  glass  of 
water. 

"Good  lack!  sir,  where  has  your  honor  been?  I 
thought  you  were  all  the  while  in  the  house,  and  I  would 
not  come  near,  though  I  was  very  uneasy;  and  there  has 
been  poor  William  crying  himself  blind,  because  you 
desired  to  be  left  alone." 

Thaddeus  was  unprepared  to  make  an  answer.  He  was 
in  hopes  to  have  gotten  in  as  he  had  stolen  out,  undis- 
covered; for  he  determined  not  to  agitate  her  too  kind 
mind  by  the  history  of  his  loss.  He  would  not  allow  her 
to  know  anything  of  his  embarrassments,  from  a  sentiment 
of  justice,  as  well  as  from  that  sensitive  pride  which  all 
his  sufferings  and  philosophy  could  not  wholly  subdue. 

"I  have  been  taking  a  walk,  Mrs.  Robson." 

"Dear  heart!  I  thought  when  you  staggered  back,  and 
looked  so  ill,  after  you  brought  in  AVilliam,  you  had 
overwalked  yourself." 


126  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

"No;  I  fancy  my  fears  had  a  little  discomposed  me; 
and  I  hoped  that  more  air  might  do  me  good;  I  tried  it, 
and  it  has:  but  I  am  grieved  for  having  alarmed  you." 

This  ambiguous  speech  satisfied  his  worthy  landlady; 
and,  fatigued  by  a  bodily  exertion  which,  in  the  present 
feeble  state  of  his  frame,  nothing  less  than  the  resolution 
of  his  mind  could  have  carried  him  through,  Thaddeus 
went  directly  to  bed,  where  tired  nature  soon  found  tem- 
porary repose  in  a  profound  sleep. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   WIDOW'S    FAMILY. 

Next  morning  Sobieski  found  himself  rather  better 
than  worse  by  the  exertions  of  the  preceding  day.  When 
Nanny  appeared  as  usual  with  his  breakfast  and  little 
William  (who  always  sat  on  his  knee  and  shared  his  bread 
and  butter),  the  count  desired  her  to  request  her  grand- 
mother to  send  to  Mr.  Vincent  with  his  compliments,  and 
to  say  her  lodger  felt  himself  so  much  recovered  as  to  de- 
cline any  further  medical  aid,  and  therefore  wished  to 
have  his  bill. 

Mrs.  Robson,  who  could  not  forget  the  behavior  of  the 
apothecary,  undertook  to  deliver  the  message  herself, 
happy  in  the  triumph  she  should  enjoy  over  the  littleness 
of  Mr.  Vincent's  suspicions. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  she  reappeared 
in  the  count's  rooms,  accompanied  by  the  apothecary's 
assistant,  who,  with  many  thanks,  received  the  sum  total 
of  the  account,  which  amounted  to  three  guineas  for  ten 
days'  attendance. 

The  man  having  withdrawn,  Thaddeus  told  Mrs.  Rob- 
son,  he  should  next  defray  the  smallest  part  of  the  vast 
debt  he  must  ever  owe  to  her  parental  care. 

"Oh,  bless  your  honor,  it  goes  to  my  heart  to  take  a 
farthing  of  you!  but  these  poor  children,"  cried  she,  lay- 
ing a  hand  on  each,  and  her  eyes  glistening,  "they  look 
up  to  me  as  their  all  here;  and  my  quarter-day  was  yes- 
terday, else,  dear  sir,  I  should  scorn  to  be  like  Dr. 
Vincent,  and  take  your  money  the  moment  you  offer  it," 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  127 

V 

"My  good  madam,"  returned  Sobieski,  giving  her  a 
chair,  "I  am  sensible  of  your  kindness:  but  it  is  your  just 
due,  and  the  payment  of  it  can  never  lessen  your  claim 
on  my  gratitude  for  the  maternal  care  with  which  you 
have  attended  me,  a  total  stranger." 

"Then,  there,  sir,"  said  she,  looking  almost  as  ashamed 
as  if  she  were  robbng  him,  when  she  laid  it  on  the  table; 
"there  is  my  bill.  I  have  regularly  set  down  everything. 
Nanny  will  bring  it  to  me."  And  quite  disconcerted,  the 
good  woman  hurried  out  of  the  room. 

Thaddeus  looked  after  her  with  reverence. 

"There  goes,"  thought  he,  "in  that  lowly  and  feeble 
frame,  as  generous  and  noble  a  spirit  as  ever  animated  the 
breast  of  a  princess!  Here,  Nanny,"  said  he,  glancing 
his  eye  over  the  paper,  "there  is  the  gold,  with  my 
thanks;  and  tell  your  grandmother  I  am  astonished  at  her 
economy." 

This  affair  over,  the  count  was  relieved  of  a  grievous 
load;  and  turning  the  remaining  money  in  his  hand,  how 
he  might  replenish  the  little  stock  before  it  were  ex- 
pended next  occupied  his  attention.  Notwithstanding 
the  pawnbroker's  civil  treatment,  he  recoiled  at  again 
presenting  himself  at  his  shop.  Besides,  should  he  dis- 
pose of  all  that  he  possessed,  it  might  not  be  of  sufficient 
value  here  to  subsist  him  a  month.  He  must  think  of 
some  source  within  himself  that  was  not  likely  to  be  so 
soon  exhausted.  To  be  reduced  a  second  time  to  the 
misery  which  he  had  endured  yesterday  from  suspense 
and  wretchedness,  appeared  too  dreadful  to  be  hazarded, 
and  he  ran  over  in  his  memory  the  different  merits  of  his 
several  accomplishments. 

He  could  not  make  any  use  of  his  musical  talents;  for 
at  public  exhibitions  of  himself  his  soul  revolted;  and  as 
to  his  literary  acquirements,  his  youth,  and  being  a 
foreigner,  precluded  all  hopes  on  that  head.  At  length 
he  found  that  his  sole  dependence  must  rest  on  his  talents 
for  painting.  Of  this  art  he  had  always  been  remarkably 
fond;  and  his  taste  easily  perceived  that  there  were  many 
drawings  exhibited  for  sale  much  inferior  to  those  which 
he  had  executed  for  mere  amusement. 

He  decided  at  once;  and  purchasing,  by  the  means  of 
Nanny,  pencils  and  India  ink,  he  set  to  work. 

When  he  had  finished  half  a  dozen  drawing-,  and 


128  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

considering  how  he  might  find  the  street  in  which  he  had 
seen  the  print-shops,  the  recollection  occurred  to  him  of 
the  impression  his  appearance  had  made  on  the  pawn- 
broker. He  perceived  the  wide  difference  between  his 
apparel  and  the  fashion  of  England;  and  considering  the 
security  from  impertinence  with  which  he  might  walk 
about,  could  he  so  far  cast  off  the  relics  of  his  former 
rank  as  to  change  his  dress,  he  rose  up  with  an  intention 
to  go  out  and  purchase  a  surtout  coat  and  a  hat  for  that 
purpose,  when  catching  an  accidental  view  of  his  uniform, 
with  the  star  of  St.  Stanislaus  on  its  breast,  as  he  passed 
the  glass,  he  no  longer  wondered  at  the  curiosity  which 
such  an  appendage,  united  with  poverty,  had  attracted. 
Eather  than  again  subject  himself  to  a  similar  situation, 
he  summoned  his  young  messenger;  and,  by  her  assistance, 
furnished  himself  with  an  English  hat  and  coat,  while 
with  his  penknife  he  cut  away  the  embroidery  of  the  order 
from  the  cloth  to  which  it  was  affixed. 

Thus  accoutered,  with  his  hat  fhvpped  over  his  face  and 
his  great-coat  wrapped  around  him,  he  put  the  drawings 
into  his  bosom,  and  about  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening 
walked  out  on  his  dis;igreeable  errand.  After  some  weary- 
ing search,  he  at  last  found  Great  Newport  Street,  the 
place  he  wanted;  but  as  he  advanced,  his  hopes  died  away 
and  his  fears  and  reluctance  reawakened.  He  stopped  at 
the  door  of  the  nearest  print-shop.  All  that  he  had  suf- 
fered at  the  pawnbroker's  assailed  him  with  redoubled 
violence.  What  he  presented  there  possessed  a  fixed  value, 
and  was  at  once  to  be  taken  or  refused;  but  now  he  was 
going  to  offer  things  of  mere  taste,  and  he  might  meet 
not  only  with  a  denial,  but  affronting  remarks. 

He  walked  to  the  threshold  of  the  door,  then  as  hastily 
withdrew,  and  hurried  two  or  three  paces  down  the  street. 

"Weak,  contemptible  that  I  am!"  said  he  to  himself  as 
he  again  turned  round;  "where  is  all  my  reason,  and 
rectitude  of  principle,  that  I  would  rather  endure  the 
misery  of  dependence  and  self-reproach  than  dare  the  at- 
tempt to  seek  support  from  the  fruits  of  my  own  industry?" 

He  quickened  his  step  and  started  into  the  shop,  almost 
fearful  of  his  former  irresolution.  He  threw  his  drawings 
instantly  upon  the  counter. 

"Sir,  you  purchase  drawings.  I  have  these  to  sell. 
Will  they  suit  you?" 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  129 

The  man  took  them  up  without  deigning  to  look  at  the 
person  who  had  accosted  him,  and  turning  them  over  in 
his  hand,  "One,  two,  three,  hum;  there  is  half  a  dozen. 
What  do  you  expect  for  them?" 

kT  am  not  acquainted  with  the  prices  of  these  things." 

The  print  seller,  hearing  this,  thought,  by  managing 
well,  to  get  them  for  what  he  liked,  and  throwing  them 
over  with  an  air  of  contempt,  resumed: 

"And  pray,  where  may  the  views  he  taken?" 

"They  are  recollections  of  scenes  in  Germany." 

"Ah!"  replied  the  man,  "mere  drugs!  I  wish,  honest 
friend,  you  could  have  brought  subjects  not  quite  so 
threadbare,  and  a  little  better  executed;  they  are  but  poor 
things !  But  every  dauber  nowadays  sets  up  for  a  fine 
artist,  and  thinks  we  are  to  pay  him  for  spoiled  paper  and 
conceit." 

Insulted  by  this  speech,  and,  above  all,  by  the  manner 
of  the  print  seller,  Thaddeus  was  snatching  up  the  draw- 
ings to  leave  the  shop  without  a  word,  when  the  man, 
observing  his  design,  and  afraid  to  lose  them,  laid  his 
hand  on  the  heap,  exclaiming: 

"Let  me  tell  you,  young  man,  it  does  not  become  a  per- 
son in  your  situation  to  be  so  huffy  to  his  employers.  I 
will  give  you  a  guinea  for  the  six,  and  you  may  think 
yourself  well  paid." 

Without  further  hesitation,  while  the  count  was  striv- 
ing to  subdue  the  choler  which  urged  him  to  knock  him 
down,  the  man  laid  the  gold  on  the  counter,  and  was  slip- 
ping the  drawings  into  a  drawer;  but  Thaddeus,  snatch- 
ing them  out  again,  suddenly  rolled  them  up,  and  walked 
out  of  the  shop  as  he  said : 

"Not  all  the  money  of  all  your  tribe  should  tempt  an 
honest  man  to  pollute  himself  by  exchanging  a  second 
word  with  one  so  contemptible." 

Irritated  at  this  unfeeling  treatment,  he  returned  home, 
too  much  provoked  to  think  of  the  consequences  which 
might  follow  a  similar  disappointment. 

Having  become  used  to  the  fluctuations  of  his  looks  and 
behavior,  the  widow  ceased  altogether  to  tease  him  with 
inquiries,  which  she  saw  he  was  sometimes  loath  to  answer. 
She  now  allowed  him  to  walk  in  and  out  without  a  re- 
mark, and  silently  contemplated  his  pale  and  melancholy 
countenance,  when,  after  a  ramble  of  the  greatest  part  of 
the  day,  he  returned^home  exhausted  and  dispirited. 


130  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 

William  was  always  the  first  to  welcome  his  friend  at 
the  threshold,  by  running  to  him,  taking  hold  of  his  coat, 
and  asking  to  go  with  him  upstairs.  The  count  usually 
gratified  him,  and  brightened  many  dull  hours  with  his 
innocent  caresses. 

This  child  was  literally  his  only  earthly  comfort;  for 
he  saw  that  in  him  he  could  still  excite  those  emotions  of 
happiness  which  had  once  afforded  him  his  sweetest  joy. 
William  ever  greeted  him  with  smiles,  and  when  he 
entered  the  kitchen,  sprang  to  his  bosom,  as  if  that  were 
the  seat  of  peace,  as  it  was  of  virtue.  But,  alas !  fate 
seemed  adverse  to  lend  anything  long  to  the  unhappy 
Thaddeus  which  might  render  his  desolate  state  more 
tolerable. 

Just  risen  from  a  bed  of  sickness,  he  required  the  hand 
of  some  tender  nurse  to  restore  his  wasted  vigor,  instead 
of  being  reduced  to  the  hard  vigils  of  poverty  and  want. 
His  recent  disappointment,  added  to  a  cold  which  he  had 
caught,  increased  his  feverish  debility;  yet  he  adhered  to 
the  determination  not  to  appropriate  to  his  own  subsist- 
ence the  few  valuables  he  had  assigned  as  a  deposit  for 
the  charges  of  his  rent.  During  a  fortnight  he  never 
tasted  anything  better  than  bread  and  water;  but  this 
hermit's  fare  was  accompanied  by  the  resigned  thought 
that  if  it  ended  in  death,  his  sufferings  would  then  be 
over,  and  the  widow  amply  remunerated  by  what  little  of 
his  property  remained. 

In  this  state  of  body  and  mind  he  received  a  most  pain- 
ful shock,  when  one  evening,  returning  from  a  walk  of 
many  hours,  in  the  place  of  his  little  favorite,  he  met 
Mrs.  Robson  in  tears  at  the  door.  She  told  him  William 
had  been  sickening  all  the  day,  and  was  now  so  delirious 
that  neither  she  nor  his  sister  could  keep  him  quiet. 

Thaddeus  went  to  the  side  of  the  child's  bed,  where  he 
lay  gasping  on  the  pillow,  held  down  by  the  crying 
Nanny.     The  count  touched  his  cheek. 

"Poor  child !"  exclaimed  he;  "he  is  in  a  high  fever. 
Have  you  sent  for  Mr.  Vincent?" 

"Oh,  no;  I  had  not  the  heart  to  leave  him." 

"Then  I  will  go  directly,"  returned  Thaddeus;  "there 
is  not  a  moment  to  be  lost." 

The  poor  woman  thanked  him.  Hastening  through  the 
streets  with  »fi  ©agerneas  which  nearly  overset  several  of 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  131 

the  foot-passengers,  lie  arrived  at  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields; 
and  in  less  than  five  minutes  after  he  quitted  Mrs.  Rob- 
son's  door  he  returned  with  the  apothecary. 

On  Mr.  Vincent's  examining  the  pulse  and  countenance 
of  his  little  patient,  he  declared  the  symptoms  to  be  the 
small-pox,  which  some  casualty  had  repelled. 

In  a  paroxysm  of  distress,  Mrs.  Robson  recollected  that 
a  girl  had  been  brought  into  her  shop  three  days  ago,  just 
recovered  from  that  frightful  malady. 

Thaddeus  tried  to  subdue  the  fears  of  the  grandmother, 
and  at  last  succeeded  in  persuading  her  to  go  to  bed, 
while  he  and  Nanny  would  watch  by  the  pillow  of  the 
invalid. 

Toward  morning  the  disorder  broke  out  on  the  child's 
face,  and  he  recovered  his  recollection.  The  moment  he 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  count,  who  was  leaning  over  him,  he 
stretched  out  his  little  arms,  and  begged  to  lie  on  his 
breast.  Thaddeus  refused  him  gently,  fearing  that  by 
any  change  of  position  he  might  catch  cold,  and  so  again 
retard  what  had  now  so  fortunately  appeared;  but  the 
poor  child  thought  the  denial  unkind,  and  began  to  weep 
so  violently  that  his  anxious  friend  believed  it  better  to 
gratify  him  than  hazard  the  irritation  of  his  fever  by 
agitation  and  crying. 

Thaddeus  took  him  out  of  bed,  and  rolling  him  in  one 
of  the  blankets,  laid  him  in  his  bosom ;  and  drawing  his 
dressing-gown  to  shield  the  little  face  from  the  fire,  held 
him  in  that  situation  asleep  for  nearly  two  hours. 

When  Mrs.  Robson  came  downstairs  at  six  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  she  kissed  the  hand  of  the  count  as  he  sus- 
tained her  grandson  in  his  arms;  and  almost  speechless 
with  gratitude  to  him,  and  solicitude  for  the  child,  waited 
the  arrival  of  the  apothecary. 

On  his  second  visit,  he  said  a  few  words  to  her  of  com- 
fort, but  whispered  to  the  count,  while  softly  feeling 
William's  pulse,  that  nothing  short  of  the  strictest  care 
could  save  the  boy,  the  infection  he  had  received  having 
been  of  the  most  malignant  kind. 

These  words  fell  like  an  unrepealable  sentence  on  the 
heart  of  Thaddeus.  Looking  on  the  discolored  features 
of  the  patient  infant,  he  fancied  that  he  already  beheld  its 
clay-cold  face,and  its  little  limbs  stretched  in  death.  The 
idea  was  bitterness  to  him;  and  pressing  the  boy  to  his 


132  THADBEVS  OF  WARSA  W. 

breast,  lie  resolved  that  no  attention  should  be  wanting  on 
his  part  to  preserve  him  from  the  grave.  And  he  kept  hii 
promise. 

From  that  hour  until  the  day  in  which  the  poor  babe 
expired  in  his  arms,  he  never  laid  him  out  of  them  for  ten 
minutes  together;  and  when  he  did  breathe  his  last  sigh, 
and  raised  up  his  little  eyes,  Thaddeus  met  their  dying 
glance  with  a  pang  which  he  thought  his  soul  had  long 
lost  the  power  to  feel.  His  heart  seemed  to  stop ;  and 
covering  the  motionless  face  of  the  dead  child  with  his 
hand,  he  made  a  sign  to  Nanny  to  leave  the  room. 

The  girl,  who  from  respect  had  been  accustomed  to 
obey  his  slightest  nod,  went  to  her  grandmother  in  the 
shop. 

The  instant  the  girl  quitted  the  room,  with  mingled 
awe  and  grief  the  count  lifted  the  little  corpse  from  his 
knee;  and  without  allowing  himself  to  cast  another  glance 
on  the  face  of  the  poor  infant,  now  released  from  suffer- 
ing, he  put  it  on  the  bed  and,  throwing  the  sheet  over  it, 
sank  into  a  chair  and  burst  into  tears. 

The  entrance  of  Mrs.  Robson  in  some  measure  restored 
him;  for  the  moment  she  perceived  her  guest  with  his 
handkerchief  over  his  eyes,  she  judged  what  had  happened, 
and,  with  a  piercing  scream,  flew  forward  to  the  bed, 
where,  pulling  down  the  covering,  she  uttered  another 
shriek,  and  must  have  fallen  on  the  floor  had  not  Thad- 
deus and  little  Nanny,  who  ran  in  at  her  cries,  caught  her 
in  their  arms  and  bore  her  to  a  chair. 

Her  soul  was  too  much  agitated  to  allow  her  to  continue 
long  in  a  state  of  insensibility;  and  when  she  recovered, 
she  would  again  have  approached  the  deceased  child,  but 
the  count  withheld  her,  and  trying  by  every  means  in  his 
power  to  soothe  her,  so  far  succeeded  as  to  melt  her 
agonies  into  tears. 

While  she  concealed  her  venerable  head  in  the  bosom  of 
her  granddaughter,  he  once  more  lifted  the  remains  of 
the  little  William ;  and  thinking  it  best  for  the  tranquillity 
of  the  unhappy  grandmother  to  take  him  out  of  her  sight, 
he  carried  him  upstairs,  and  laid  him  on  his  own  bed. 

By  the  time  he  returned  to  the  humble  parlor,  one  of 
the  female  neighbors,  having  heard  the  unusual  outcry, 
and  suspecting  the  cause,  kindly  stepped  in  to  offer  her 
consolation  and  services.     Mrs.   Robson  could  only  reply 


-    THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  133 

by  sobs,  which  were  answered  by  the  loud  weeping  of  poor 
Nanny,  who  lay  with  her  head  against  the  table. 

When  the  count  came  down,  he  thanked  the  worthy 
woman  for  her  benevolent  intentions,  and  took  her  up- 
stairs into  his  apartments.  Pointing  to  the  open  door  of 
the  bedroom,  "There,  madam,"  said  he,  "you  will  find 
the  remains  of  my  dear  little  friend.  I  beg  you  will 
direct  everything  for  his  interment  that  you  think  will 
give  satisfaction  to  Mrs.  Kobson.  I  would  spare  that 
excellent  woman  every  pang  in  my  power." 

All  was  done  according  to  his  desire;  and  Mrs.  Watts, 
the  charitable  neighbor,  excited  by  a  kindly  disposition, 
and  reverence  for  "the  extraordinary  young  gentleman 
who  lodged  with  her  friend,"  performed  her  task  with 
tenderness  and  activity. 

"Oh!  sir,"  cried  Mrs.  Kobson,  weeping  afresh  as  she 
entered  the  count's  room,  "Oh,  sir,  how  shall  I  ever  repay 
all  your  goodness?  and  Mrs.  Watts'  ?  She  has  acted  like 
a  sister  to  me.  But,  indeed,  I  am  yet  the  most  miserable 
creature  that  lives.  I  have  lost  my  dearest  child,  and 
must  strip  his  poor  sister  of  her  daily  bread  to  bury  him. 
That  cruel  Dr.  Vincent,  though  he  might  have  imagined 
my  distress,  sent  his  account  late  last  night,  saying  he 
wanted  to  make  up  a  large  bill,  and  he  wished  I  would  let 
him  have  all,  or  part  of  the  payment.  Heaven  knows,  I 
have  not  a  farthing  in  the  house;  but  I  will  send  poor  little 
Nanny  to  pawn  my  silver  spoons,  for,  alas!  I  have  no 
other  means  of  satisfying  the  cruel  man." 

"Rapacious  wretch!"  cried  Thaddeus,  rising  indig- 
nantly from  his  chair,  and  for  a  moment  forgetting  how 
incapable  he  was  to  afford  relief:  "you  shall  not  be  in- 
debted one  instant  to  his  mercy.     I  will  wiy  him." 

The  words  had  passed  his  lips;  he  could  not  retract, 
though  conviction  immediately  followed  that  he  had  not 
the  means;  and  he  would  not  have  retracted,  even  should 
he  be  necessitated  to  part  with  everything  he  most  valued. 

Mrs.  Robson  was  overwhelmed  by  this  generous  promise, 
which,  indeed,  saved  her  from  ruin.  Had  her  little  plate 
been  pledged,  it  could  not  have  covered  one-half  of  Mr. 
Vincent's  demand,  who,  to  do  him  justice,  did  not  mean 
to  cause  any  distress.  But  having  been  so  readily  paid  by 
Thaddeus  for  his  own  illness,  and  observing  his  great  care 
and  affection  for  the  deceased  child,  he  did  not  doubt 


134  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

that,  rather  than  allow  Mrs.  Robson  a  minute's  uneasi- 
ness, her  lodger  would  defray  his  bill.  So  far  he  calcu- 
lated right;  but  he  had  not  sufficient  sagacity  to  foresee 
that  in  getting  his  money  this  way,  he  should  lose  the 
future  business  of  Mrs.  Robson  and  her  friend. 

The  child  was  to  be  buried  on  the  morrow,  the  expenses 
of  which  event  Thaddeus  saw  he  must  discharge  also;  and 
he  had  engaged  to  pay  Mr.  Vincent  that  night !  He  had 
not  a  shilling  in  his  purse.  Over  and  over  he  contem- 
plated the  impracticability  of  answering  these  debts;  yet 
he  could  not  for  an  instant  repent  of  what  he  had  under- 
taken: he  thought  he  was  amply  recompensed  for  bearing 
so  heavy  a  load  in  knowing  that  he  had  taken  it  off  the 
worn-down  heart  of  another. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE   MONET-LENDER. 

Since  the  count's  unmannerly  treatment  at  the  print 
seller's,  he  had  not  sufficiently  conquered  his  pride  to  at- 
tempt an  application  to  another.  Therefore,  he  had  no 
prospect  of  collecting  the  money  he  had  pledged  himself 
to  Mrs.  Robson  to  pay  but  by  selling  some  more  of  his 
valuables  to  the  pawnbroker. 

For  this  purpose  he  took  his  saber,  his  pistols,  and  the 
fated  brilliants  he  had  brought  back  on  a  similar  errand. 
He  drew  them  from  their  deposit,  with  less  feeling  of 
sacrilege,  in  so  disposing  of  such  relics  of  the  sacred  past, 
than  he  had  felt  on  the  former  occasion.  They  were  now 
going  to  be  devoted  to  gratitude  and  benevolence — an  act 
which  he  knew  his  parents,  were  they  alive,  would  warmly 
approve;  and  here   he   allowed  the   end   to  sanctify  the 

means. 

About  half-past  six  in  the  evening,  he  prepared  himself 
for  the  task.  Whether  it  be  congenial  with  melancholy 
to  seek  the  gloom,  or  whether  the  count  found  himself 
less  observed  under  the  shades  of  night,  is  not  evident; 
but  since  his  exile,  he  preferred  the  dusk  to  any  other 
part  of  the  day. 

Before  he  went  out,  he  asked  Mrs.  Robson  for  Mr.  Vm- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  135 

cent's  bill-  Sinking  with  obligation  and  shame,  she  put 
it  into  his  hand,  and  he  left  the  house.  When  he  ap- 
proached a  lighted  lamp,  he  opened  the  paper  to  see  the 
amount,  and  finding  that  it  was  almost  two  pounds,  he 
hastened  forward  to  the  patf  nbroker's. 

The  man  was  in  the  shop  alone.  Thaddeus  thought 
himself  fortunate;  and,  after  subduing  a  few  qualms,  en- 
tered the  door.  The  moment  he  laid  his  sword  and 
pistols  on  the  counter,  and  declared  his  wish,  the  man, 
even  through  the  disguise  of  a  large  coat  and  slouched 
hat,  recollected  him.  This  honest  money-lender  carried 
sentiments  in  his  breast  above  his  occupation.  He  did 
not  commiserate  all  who  presented  themselves  before  him, 
because  many  exhibited  too  evidently  the  excesses  which 
had  brought  them  to  his  shop.  But  there  was  something 
in  the  figure  and  manner  of  the  Count  Sobieski  which 
struck  him  at  first  sight,  and  by  continuing  to  possess 
his  thoughts,  had  excited  so  great  an  interest  toward  him 
as  to  produce  pleasure  with  regret,  when  he  discerned  the 
noble  foreigner  again  obliged  to  proffer  such  things. 

Mr.  Burket  (for  so  this  money-lender  was  called),  re- 
spectfully asked  what  he  demanded  for  the  arms. 

"Perhaps  more  than  you  would  give.  But  I  have  some 
thing  else  here,"  laying  down  the  diamonds;  "I  want 
eight  guineas." 

Mr.  Burket  looked  at  them,  and  then  at  their  owner, 
hesitated,  and  then  spoke. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  sir;  I  hope  I  shall  not  offend  you, 
but  these  things  appear  to  have  a  value  independent  of 
their  price;  they  are  inlaid  with  crests  and  ciphers." 

The  blood  flushed  over  the  cheeks  of  the  count.  He 
had  forgotten  this  circumstance.  Unable  to  answer,  he 
waited  to  hear  what  the  man  would  say  further. 

"I  repeat,  sir,  I  mean  not  to  offend;  but  you  appear  a 
stranger  to  these  transactions.  I  only  wish  to  suggest,  in 
case  you  should  ever  like  to  repossess  these  vaulables — had 
you  not  better  pledge  them?" 

"How?"  asked  Thaddeus  irresolutely,  and  not  know- 
ing what  to  think  of  the  man's  manner. 

At  that  instant  some  other  people  came  into  the  shop; 
and  Mr.  Burket,  gathering  up  the  diamonds  and  the  arms 
in  his  hand,  said,  "If  you  do  not  object,  sir,  we  will  settle 
this  business  in  my  back  parlor." 


130  TBADDEVS  OF  WARSAW. 

The  delicacy  of  his  behavior  penetrated  the  mind  of 
Thaddeus,  and  without  demurring,  he  followed  him  into 
a  room.  While  Mr.  Burket  offered  his  guest  a  chair,  the 
eount  took  off  his  hat  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  Burket 
contemplated  the  saddened  dignity  of  his  countenance 
with  renewed  interest;  entreating  him  to  be  seated,  he 
resumed  the  conversation. 

"I  see,  sir,  you  do  not  understand  the  meaning  of 
pledging,  or  pawning,  for  it  is  one  and  the  same  thing; 
but  I  will  explain  it  in  two  words.  If  you  leave  these 
things  with  me,  I  will  give  you  a  paper  in  acknowledg- 
ment, and  lend  on  them  the  guineas  you  request;  for 
which  sum,  when  you  return  it  to  me  with  a  stated  in- 
terest, you  shall  have  your  deposit  in  exchange." 

Sobieski  received  this  offer  with  pleasure  and  thanks. 
He  had  entertained  no  idea  of  anything  more  being  meant 
by  the  trade  of  a  pawnbroker  than  a  man  who  bought 
what  others  wished  to  sell. 

"Then,  sir,"  continued  Burket,  opening  an  escritoire, 
"I  will  give  you  the  money,  and  write  the  paper  I  spoke 

of." 

Just  as  he  put  his  hand  to  the  drawer,  he  heard  voices 
in  an  adjoining  passage;  and  instantly  shutting  the  desk, 
he  caught  up  the  things  on  the  table,  threw  them  behind 
a  curtain,  and  hastily  taking  the  count  by  the  hand,  said, 
"My  dear,  sir,  do  oblige  me,  and  step  into  that  closet; 
you  will  find  a  chair.  A  person  is  coming,  whom  I  will 
dispatch  in  a  few  seconds." 

Thaddeus,  rather  surprised  at  such  hurry,  did  as  he 
was  desired;  and  the  door  was  closed  on  him  just  as  the 
parlor  door  opened.  Being  aware  from  such  concealment 
that  the  visitor  came  on  secret  business,  he  found  his  sit- 
uation not  a  little  awkward.  Seated  behind  a  curtained 
window,  which  the  lights  in  the  room  made  transparent, 
he  could  not  avoid  seeing  as  well  as  hearing  everything 
that  passed. 

"My  dear  Mr.  Burket,"  cried  an  elegant  young  crea- 
ture, who  ran  into  the  apartment,  "positively  without 
your  assistance,  I  shall  be  undone." 

"Anything  in  my  power,  madam,"  returned  Mr. 
Burket,  with  a  distant,  respectful  voice;  "will  your  lady- 
ship sit  down?" 

"Yes,  give  me  a  chair.     I  am  half-dead  with  distrac- 


TBABDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  lTt 

tion.     Mr.   Burkct,  I  must  have  another  hundred  upon 
those  jewels." 

"Indeed,  my  lady,  it  is  not  in  my  power;  you  have 
already  had  twelve  hundred;  and,  upon  my  honor,  that  is 
a  hundred  and  fifty  more  than  I  ought  to  have  given-" 

"Pshaw!  who  minds  the  honor  of  a  pawnbroker!"  cried 
the  lady,  laughing;  "you  know  very  well  you  live  by 
cheating." 

"Well,  ma'am,"  returned  he  with  a  good-natured 
smile,  "as  your  ladyship  pleases." 

"Then  I  please  that  you  let  me  have  another  hundred. 
Why,  man,  you  know  you  lent  Mrs.  Hinchinbroke  two 
thousand  upon  a  case  of  diamonds  not  a  quarter  so  many 
as  mine." 

"But  consider,  madam;  Mrs.  Hinchinbroke's  were  of 
the  best  water." 

"Positively,  Mr.  Burnet,"  exclaimed  her  ladyship, 
purposely  miscalling  his  name,  "not  better  than  miae! 
The  King  of  Sardinia  gave  them  to  Sir  Charles  when  he 
knighted  him.  I  know  mine  are  the  best,  and  I  must 
have  another  hundred.  Upon  my  life,  my  servants  have 
not  had  a  guinea  of  board  wages  these  four  months,  and 
they  tell  me  they  are  starving.  Come,  make  haste,  Mr. 
Burnet!  you  cannot  expect  me  to  stay  here  all  night; 
give  me  the  money." 

"Indeed,  my  lady,  I  cannot." 

"Heavens!  what  a  brute  of  a  man  you  are!  There," 
cried  she,  taking  a  string  of  pearls  from  her  neck,  and 
throwing  it  on  the  table;  "lend  me  some  of  your  trum- 
pery out  of  your  shop,  for  I  am  going  immediately  from 
hence  to  take  the  Misses  Dundas  to  the  opera;  so  give  me 
the  hundred  on  that,  and  let  me  go." 

"This  is  not  worth  a  hundred." 

"What  a  teasing  man  you  are!"  cried  her  ladyship 
angrily.  "Well,  let  me  have  the  money  now,  and  I  will 
send  you  the  bracelets  which  belong  to  the  necklace  to- 
morrow." 

"Upon  those  conditions  I  will  give  your  ladyship  an- 
other hundred." 

"Oh,  do;  you  are  the  veriest  miser  I  ever  met  with. 
You  are  worse  than  Shylock,  or—  Good  gracious !  what  is 
this?"  exclaimed  she,  interrupting  herself,  and  taking  up 
the   draft  he   had  laid   before  her;  "and  have  you  the 


138  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

conscience  to  think,  Mr.  Pawnbroker,  that  I  will  offer 
this  at  your  banker's?  that  I  will  expose  myself  so  far? 
No,  no;  take  it  back,  and  give  me  gold.  Come,  dispatch! 
else  I  must  disappoint  my  party.  Look,  there  is  my 
purse;"  added  she,  showing  it;  "make  haste  and  fill  it." 

After  satisfying  her  demands,  Mr.  Burket  handed  her 
ladyship  out  the  way  she  came  in,  which  was  by  a  private 
passage;  and  having  seated  her  in  her  carriage,  made  his 
bow. 

Meanwhile  the  Count  Sobieski,  wrapped  in  astonish- 
ment at  the  profligacy  which  the  scene  he  had  witnessed 
implied,  remained  in  concealment  until  the  pawnbroker 
returned,  and  opened  the  closet  door. 

"Sir,"  said  he,  coloring,  "you  have  undesignedly  on 
your  part,  been  privy  to  a  very  delicate  affair;  but  my 
credit,  sir,  and  your  honor " 

"Shall  both  be  sacred,"  replied  the  count,  anxious  to 
relieve  the  poor  man  from  his  perplexity,  and  forbearing 
to  express  surprise.  But  Burket  perceived  it  in  his  look; 
and  before  he  proceeded  to  fulfill  the  engagement  with 
him,  stepped  half-way  to  the  escritoire,  and  resumed: 

"You  appear  amazed,  sir,  at  what  you  have  seen.  And 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  are  from  abroad?" 

"Indeed,  I  am  amazed,"  replied  Sobieski;  "and  I  am 
from  a  country  where  the  slightest  suspicion  of  a  transac- 
tion such  as  this  would  brand  the  woman  with  infamy." 

"And  so  it  ought,"  answered  Burket;  "though  by  that 
assertion  I  speak  against  my  own  interest,  for  it  is  by  such 
as  Lady  Hilliars  we  make  our  money.  Now,  sir,"  con- 
tinued he,  drawing  nearer  to  the  table,  "perhaps,  after 
what  you  have  just  beheld,  you  will  not  hesitate  to  credit 
what  I  am  going  to  tell  you.  I  have  now  in  my  hands 
the  jewels  of  one  duchess,  of  three  countesses,  and  of 
women  of  fashion  without  number.  When  these  ladies 
have  an  ill  run  at  play,  they  apply  to  me  in  their  exigen- 
cies; they  bring  their  diamonds  here,  and  as  their  occa- 
sions require,  on  that  deposit  I  lend  them  money,  for 
which  they  make  me  a  handsome  present  when  the  jewels 
are  released." 

"You  astonish  me!"  exclaimed  Thaddeus;  "what  a 
degrading  system  of  deceit  must  govern  the  lives  of  these 
women!" 

"It  is  very  lamentable,"  returned  Burket;  "but  so  it 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  139 

is.  And  they  continue  to  manage  matters  very  cleverly. 
By  giving  me  their  note  or  word  of  honor  (for  if  these 
ladies  are  not  honorable  with  me,  I  know  by  what  hints 
to  keep  them  in  order),  I  allow  them  to  have  the  jewels 
out  for  the  birthdays,  and  receive  them  again  when  their 
exhibition  is  over.  As  a  compensation  for  these  little 
indulgences,  I  expect  considerable  additions  to  the 
douceur  at  the  end." 

Thaddeus  could  hardly  believe  such  a  history  of  those 
women,  whom  travelers  mentioned  as  not  only  the  most 
lovely  but  the  most  amiable  creatures  in  the  world. 

"Surely,  Mr.  Burket,"  cired  he,  "these  ladies  must 
despise  each  other,  and  become  contemptible  even  to  our 
sex." 

"Oh,  no,"  rejoined  the  pawnbroker;  "they  seldom 
trust  each  other  in  these  affairs.  All  my  fair  customers  are 
not  so  silly  as  that  pretty  little  lady  who  just  now  left  us. 
She  and  another  woman  of  quality  have  made  each  other 
confidants  in  this  business.  And  I  have  no  mercy  when 
both  come  together!  They  are  as  ravenous  of  my  money 
as  if  it  had  no  other  use  but  to  supply  them.  As  to  their 
husbands,  brothers,  and  fathers,  they  are  usually  the  last 
people  who  suspect  or  hear  of  these  matters;  their  applica- 
tions, when  they  run  out,  are  made  to  Jews  and  professed 
usurers,  a  race  completely  out  of  our  line." 

"But  are  all  English  women  of  quality  of  this  disgrace- 
ful stamp?" 

"No;  Heaven  forbid!"  cried  Burket;  "if  these  female 
spendthrifts  Avere  not  held  in  awe  by  the  dread  of  superior 
characters,  we  could  have  no  dependence  on  their  prom- 
ises. Oh,  no;  there  are  ladies  about  the  court  whose 
virtues  are  as  eminent  as  their  rank ;  women  whose  actions 
might  all  be  performed  in  mid-day,  before  the  world;  and 
them  I  never  see  within  my  doors." 

"Well,  Mr.  Burket,"  rejoined  Thaddeus,  smiling,  "I 
am  glad  to  hear  that.  Yet  I  cannot  forget  the  unex- 
pected view  of  the  famous  British  fair  "which  this  night 
has  offered  to  my  eyes.     It  is  strange!" 

"It  is  very  bad,  indeed,  sir,"  returned  the  man,  giving 
him  the  money  and  the  paper  he  had  been  preparing; 
"but  if  you  should  have  occasion  to  call  again  upon  me, 
perhaps  you  amy  be  astonished  still  further." 


140  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

The  count  bowed ;  and  thanking  him  for  his  kindness, 
wished  him  a  good-evening  and  left  the  shop.* 

It  was  about  seven  o'clock  when  Thaddeus  arrived  at 
the  apothecary's.  Mr.  Vincent  was  from  home.  To  say 
the  truth,  he  had  purposely  gone  out  of  the  way.  For 
though  he  did  not  hesitate  to  commit  a  shabby  action, 
he  wanted  courage  to  face  its  consequence;  and  to  avoid 
the  probable  remonstrances  of  Mrs.  Eobson,  he  commis- 
sioned his  assistant  to  receive  the  amount  of  the  bill. 
Without  making  an  observation,  the  count  paid  the  man 
and  was  returning  homeward  along  Duke  Street  and  the 
piazzas  of  Drury  Lane  Theater,  when  the  crowd  around, 
the  doors  constrained  him  to  stop. 

After  two  or  three  ineffectual  attempts  to  get  through 
the  bustle,  he  retreated  a  little  behind  the  mob,  at  the 
moment  when  a  chariot  drew  up,  and  a  gentleman  step- 
ping out  with  two  ladies,  darted  with  them  into  the  house. 
One  glance  was  sufficient  for  Sobieski,  who  recognized  his 
friend  Pembroke  Somerset,  in  full  dress,  gay  and  laugh- 
ing. The  heart  of  Thaddeus  sprang  to  him  at  the  sight; 
and  forgetting  his  neglect  and  his  own  misfortunes,  he 
ejaculated : 

"Somerset!" 

Trembling  with  eagerness  and  emotion,  he  pressed 
through  the  crowd,  and  entered  the  passage  at  the  instant 
a  green  door  within  shut  upon  his  friend. 

His  disappointment  was  dreadful.  To  be  so  near 
Somerset,  and  to  lose  him,  was  more  than  he  could  sus- 
tain. His  bounding  heart  recoiled,  and  the  chill  of 
despair  running  through  his  veins  turned  him  faint. 
Leaning  against  the  passage  door,  he  took  his  hat  off  to 
give  himself  air.  He  scarcely  had  stood  a  minute  in  this 
situation,  revolving  whether  he  should  follow  his  friend 
into  the  house  or  wait  until  he  came  out  again,  when  a 
gentleman  begged  him  to  make  way  for  a  party  of  ladies 
that  were  entering.  Thaddeus  moved  to  one  side;  but 
the  opening  of  the  green  door  casting  a  strong  light  both 
on  his  face  and  the  group  behind,  his  eyes  and  those  of 
the  impertinent  inquisitor  of  the  Hummums  met  each 
other. 

*  The  whole  of  this  scene  at  the  pawnbroker's  is  too  true;  the  writer, 
knows  it  from  an  eye  and  «ar  witness- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  141 

Whether  the  man  was  conscious  that  he  deserved  chas- 
tisement for  his  former  insolence,  and  dreaded  to  meet  it 
now,  cannot  be  explained;  but  he  turned  pale,  and 
shuffled  by  Thaddeus,  as  if  he  were  fearful  to  trust  him- 
self within  reach  of  his  grasp.  As  for  the  count,  he  was 
too  deeply  interested  in  his  own  pursuit  to  waste  one 
surmise  upon  him. 

He  continued  to  muse  on  the  sight  of  Pembroke  Somer- 
set, which  had  conjured  up  ten  thousand  fond  and  dis- 
tressing recollections;  and  with  impatient  anxiety,  deter- 
mining to  watch  till  the  performance  was  over,  he  thought 
of  inquiring  his  friend's  address  of  the  servants;  but  on 
looking  round  for  that  purpose,  he  perceived  the  chariot 
had  driven  away. 

Thus  foiled,  he  returned  to  his  post  near  the  green 
door,  which  was  opened  at  intervals  by  footmen  passing 
and  repassing.  Seeing  that  the  chamber  within  was  a 
lobby,  in  which  it  would  be  less  likely  he  should  miss  his 
object  than  if  he  continued  standing  without,  he  entered 
with  the  next  person  that  approached ;  finding  seats  along 
the  sides  he  sat  down  on  the  one  nearest  to  the  stairs. 

His  first  idea  was  to  proceed  into  the  playhouse.  But 
he  considered  the  small  chance  of  discovering  any  partic- 
ular individual  in  so  vast  a  building  as  not  equal  to  the 
expense  he  must  incur.  Besides,  from  the  dress  of  the 
gentlemen  who  entered  the  box-door,  he  was  sensible  that 
his  great-coat  and  round  hat  were  not  admissible.* 

Having  remained  above  an  hour  with  his  eyes  invari- 
ably fixed  on  the  stairs,  he  observed  that  some  curious 
person,  who  had  passed  almost  directly  after  his  friend, 
came  down  the  steps  and  walked  out.  In  two  minutes  he 
was  returning  with  a  smirking  countenance,  when,  his 
eyes  accidentally  falling  on  the  count  (who  sat  with  his 
arms  folded,  andal  most  hidden  by  the  shadow  of  the  wall), 
he  faltered  in  his  step.  Stretching  out  his  neck  toward 
him,  the  gay  grin  left  his  features;  and  exclaiming  in 
an  impatient  voice,  "Confound  him,"  he  hastened  once 
more  into  the  house. 

This  rencounter  with  his  Hummums'  acquaintance 
affected  Thaddeus  as  slightly  as  the  former;  and  without 

*  A  nearly  full  dress  was  worn  at  that  time  by  ladies  and  gentle- 
men at  the  great  theaters.  And  much  respect  has  been  lost  to  the 
higher  classes  by  the  gradual  change. 


142  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

annexing  even  a  thought  to  his  figure  as  it  flitted  by  him, 
he  remained  watching  in  the  lobby  until  half-past  eleven. 
At  that  hour  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the  com- 
pany began  to  pour  forth. 

The  count's  hopes  were  again  on  his  lips  and  in  his 
eyes.  With  the  first  party  who  came  down  the  steps,  he 
rose;  and  planting  himself  close  to  the  bottom  stair,  drew 
his  hat  over  his  face,  and  narrowly  examined  each  group 
as  it  descended.  Every  set  that  approached  made  his 
heart  palpitate.  How  often  did  it  rise  and  fall  during 
the  long  succession  which  continued  moving  for  nearly 
half  an  hour! 

By  twelve  the  house  was  cleared.  He  saw  the  middle 
door  locked,  and,  motionless  with  disappointment,  did 
not  attempt  to  stir,  until  the  man  who  held  the  keys  told 
him  to  go,  as  he  was  about  to  fasten  the  other  doors. 

This  roused  Thaddeus;  and  as  he  was  preparing  to 
obey,  he  asked  the  man  if  there  were  any  other  passage 
from  the  boxes. 

"Yes,"  cried  he;  "there  is  one  into  Drury  Lane." 

"Then,  by  that  I  have  lost  him!"  was  the  reply  which 
he  made  to  himself.  And  returning  homeward,  he 
arrived  there  a  few  minutes  after  twelve. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE   MEETING    OF   EXILES. 
"And  they  lifted  up  their  voices  and  wept." 

Thaddeus  awoke  in  the  morning  with  his  heart  full  of 
the  last  night's  rencounter.  One  moment  he  regretted 
that  he  had  not  been  seen  by  his  friend.  In  the  next, 
when  he  surveyed  his  altered  state,  he  was  almost  recon- 
ciled to  the  disappointment.  Then,  reproaching  himself 
for  a  pride  so  unbecoming  his  principles  and  dishonorable 
to  friendship,  he  asked,  if  he  were  in  Somerset's  place, 
and  Somerset  in  his,  whether  he  could  ever  pardon  the 
morose  delicacy  which  had  prevented  the  communication 
of  his  friend's  misfortunes,  and  arrival  in  the  same  king- 
dom with  himself. 


THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  143 

These  reflections  soon  persuaded  his  judgment  to  what 
his  heart  was  so  much  inclined:  determining  him  to  in- 
quire Pembroke's  address  of  every  one  likely  to  know  a 
man  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset's  consequence,  and  then  to 
venture  a  letter. 

In  the  midst  of  these  meditations  the  door  opened,  and 
Mrs.  Robson  appeared,  drowned  in  tears. 

"My  dear,  dear  sir!"  cried  she,  "my  William  is  going. 
I  have  just  taken  a  last  look  of  his  sweet  face.  Will  you 
go  down  and  say  farewell  to  the  poor  child  you  loved  so 
dearly?" 

"No,  my  good  madam,"  returned  Thaddeus,  his  stray- 
ing thoughts  at  once  gathering  round  this  mournful  cen- 
ter; "I  will  rather  retain  you  here  until  the  melancholy 
task  be  entirety  accomplished." 

With  gentle  violence  he  forced  her  upon  a  seat,  and  in 
silence  supported  her  head  on  his  breast,  against  which 
she  unconsciously  leaned  and  wept.  He  listened  with  a 
depressed  heart  to  the  removal  of  the  coffin;  and  at  the 
closing  of  the  street  door,  which  forever  shut  the  little 
William  from  that  house  in  which  he  had  been  the  source 
of  its  greatest  pleasure,  a  tear  trickled  down  the  cheek  of 
Thaddeus;  and  the  sobbing  of  the  poor  grandmother 
was  audible. 

The  count,  incapable  of  speaking,  pressed  her  hand  in 
his. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Coustantine!"  cried  she,  "see  how  my  sup- 
ports, one  after  the  other,  are  taken  from  me!  first  my 
son,  and  now  his  infant!     To  what  shall  I  be  reduced?" 

"You  have  still,  my  good  Mrs.  Robson,  a  friend  in 
heaven  who  will  supply  the  place  of  all  you  have  lost  on 
earth." 

"True,  dear  sir!  I  am  a  wicked  creature  to  speak  as  I 
have  done;  but  it  is  hard  to  suffer:  it  is  hard  to  lose  all 
we  loved  in  the  world!" 

"It  is,"  returned  the  count,  greatly  affected  by  her 
grief.  "But  God,  who  is  perfect  wisdom  aa  well  as  per- 
fect love,  chooseth  rather  to  profit  us  than  to  please  us  in 
his  dispensations.  Our  sweet  William  has  gained  by  our 
loss:  he  is  blessed  in  heaven,  while  we  weakly  lament  him 
on  earth.  Besides,  you  are  not  yet  deprived  of  all;  you 
have  a  granddaughter." 

'Ah,  poor  little  thing!  what  will  become  of  her  when 


u 


144  THADDEVS  OF  WARSAW. 

I  die?     I  used  to  think  what  a  precious  brother  my  dar- 
ling boy  would  prove  to  his  sister  when  I  should  be  no 

more!" 

This  additional  image  augmented  the  affliction  of  the 
good  old  woman;  and  Thaddeus,  looking  on  her  with 
affectionate  compassion,  exclaimed: 

"Mrs.  Robson,  the  same  Almighty  Being  that  protected 
me,  the  last  of  my  family,  will  protect  the  orphan  off- 
spring of  a  woman  so  like  the  revered  Naomi!" 

"Mrs.  Robson  lifted  up  her  head  for  a  moment.  She 
had  never  before  heard  him  utter  a  sentence  of  his  own 
history;  and  what  he  now  said,  added  to  the  tender  so- 
lemnity of  his  manner,  for  an  instant  arrested  her  at- 
tention.    He  went  on: 

"In  me  you  see  a  man  who,  within  the  short  space  of 
three  months,  has  lost  a  grandfather,  who  loved  him  as 
fondly  as  you  did  your  William ;  a  mother,  whom  he  saw 
expire  before  him,  and  whose  sacred  remains  he  was  forced 
to  leave  in  the  hands  of  her  murderers!  Yes,  Mrs.  Rob- 
son,  I  have  neither  parents  nor  a  home.  I  was  a  stranger, 
and  you  took  me  in ;  and  Heaven  will  reward  your  family, 
in  kind.  At  least,  I  promise  that  while  1  live,  whatever 
be  my  fate,  should  you  be  called  hence,  I  will  protect  your 
granddaughter  with  a  brother's  care." 

"May  Heaven  in  mercy  bless  you!"  cried  Mrs.  Robson, 
dropping  on  her  knees.  Thaddeus  raised  her  with  gush- 
ing eyes;  having  replaced  her  in  a  seat,  he  left  the  room 
to  recover  himself. 

According  to  the  count's  desire,  Mrs.  Watts  called  in 
the  evening,  with  an  estimate  of  the  expenses  attending 
the  child's  interment.  Fees  and  every  charge  collected, 
the  demand  on  his  benevolence  was  six  pounds.  The 
sum  proved  rather  more  than  he  expected,  but  he  paid  it 
without  a  demur,  leaving  himself  only  a  few  shillings. 

He  considered  what  he  had  done  as  a  fulfillment  of  a 
duty  so  indispensable  that  it  must  have  been  accomplished 
even  by  the  sacrifice  of  his  uttermost  farthing.  Grat- 
itude and  distress  held  claims  upon  him  which  he  never 
allowed  his  own  necessities  to  transgress.  All  gifts  of 
mere  generosity  were  beyond  his  power,  and,  conse- 
quently, in  a  short  time  beyond  his  wish ;  but  to  the  cry 
of  want  and  wretchedness"  his  hand  and  heart  were  ever 
open.     Often  had  he  given  away  to  a  starving  child  in  the 


THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  H5 

street  that  pittance  which  was  to  purchase  his  own  scant 
meal;  and  he  never  felt  such  neglect  of  himself  a  priva- 
tion. To  have  turned  his  eyes  and  ears  from  the  little 
mendicant  would  have  been  the  hardest  struggle;  and  the 
remembrance  of  such  inhumanity  would  have  haunted 
him  on  his  pillow.  This  being  the  disposition  of  Count 
Sobieski,  he  found  it  more  difficult  to  bear  calamity,  when 
viewing  another's  poverty  he  could  not  relieve,  than  when 
^assailed  himself  by  penury,  in  all  its  other  shapes  of 
desolation. 

Toward  night,  the  idea  of  Somerset  again  presented 
itself.  When  he  fell  asleep,  his  dreams  repeated  the 
scene  at  the  playhouse;  again  he  saw  him,  and  again  he 
eluded  his  grasp. 

His  waking  thoughts  were  not  less  true  to  their  object; 
and  next  morning  he  went  to  a  quiet  coffee-house  in  the 
lane,  where  he  called  for  breakfast,  and  inquired  of  the 
master,  "did  he  know  the  residence  of  Sir  Robert  Somer- 
set?" The  question  was  no  sooner  asked  than  it  was 
answered  to  his  satisfaction.  The  Court  Guide  was  ex- 
amined, and  he  found  this  address:  "Sir  Robert  Somer- 
set, Bart.,  Grosvenor  Square,  Somerset  Castle,  L — shire, 
Deerliu rst,  W — shire.1" 

Gladdened  by  the  discovery,  Thaddeus  hastened  home, 
and  unwilling  to  affect  his  friend  by  a  sudden  appearance, 
with  an  overflowing  heart  he  wrote  the  following  letter: 

"To  Pembroke  Somerset,  Esq.,  Grosvenor  Square. 

"Dear  Somerset:  Will  the  name  at  the  bottom  of 
this  paper  surprise  you?  Will  it  give  you  pleasure?  I 
cannot  suffer  myself  to  retain  a  doubt!  although  the 
silence  of  two  years  might  almost  convince  me  I  am  for- 
gotten. In  truth,  Somerset,  I  had  resolved  never  to 
obtrude  myself  and  my  misfortunes  on  your  knowledge, 
until  last  Wednesday  night,  when  I  saw  you  going  into 
Drury  Lane  Theater;  the  sight  of  you  quelled  all  my  re- 
sentment, and  I  called  after  you,  but  you  did  not  hear. 
Pardon  me,  my  dear  friend,  that  I  speak  of  resentment. 
It  is  hard  to  learn  resignation  to  the  forgetfulness  of  those 
we  love. 

"Notwithstanding  that  I  lost  the  pocket-book  in  a 
battle-field  which  contained  your  direction,  I  wrote  to  you 
frequently  at  a  venture;  and  yet,  though  you  knew  i» 


146  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

what  spot  in  Poland  yon  had  left  Thaddens  and  his  family, 
I  have  never  heard  of  you  since  the  day  of  onr  separation. 
You  must  have  some  good  reason  for  your  silence;  at  least 
I  hope  so. 

"Doubtless  public  report  has  afforded  you  some  infor- 
mation relative  to  the  destruction  of  my  ever-beloved 
country!  I  bear  its  fate  on  myself.  You  will  find  me  in 
a  poor  lodging  at  the  bottom  of  St.  Martin's  Lane.  You 
will  find  me  changed  in  everything.  But  the  first  horrors 
©f  grief  have  subsided;  and  my  dearest  consolation  in  the 
midst  of  my  affliction  rises  out  of  its  bitterest  cause:  I 
thank  Heaven,  my  revered  grandfather  and  mother  were 
taken  from  a  consummation  of  ills  which  would  have  re- 
duced them  to  a  misery  I  am  content  to  endure  alone. 

"Come  to  me,  dear  Somerset.  To  look  on  you,  to  press 
you  in  my  arms,  will  be  a  happiness  which,  even  in  hope, 
makes  my  heart  throb  with  pleasure. 

"I  will  remain  at  home  all  day  to-morrow,  in  the  ex- 
pectation of  seeing  you;  meanwhile,  adieu,  my  dear 
Somerset.  You  will  find  at  No.  5  St.  Martin's  Lane 
your  ever  affectionate 

"Thaddeus  Constantine,  Count  Sobieski. 

"Friday  noon. 

"P.S. — Inquire  for  me  by  the  name  of  Mr.  Constan- 
tine."  * 

With  the  most  delightful  emotions,  Thaddens  sealed 
his  letter  and  gave  it  to  Nanny,  with  orders  to  inquire  at 
the  post-office  "when  he  might  expect  an  answer."  The 
child  returned  with  information  that  it  would  reach  Gros- 
venor  Square  in  an  hour,  and  he  could  have  a  reply  by 
three  o'clock. 

Three  o'clock  arrived,  and  no  letter.  Thaddeus 
counted  the  hours  until  midnight,  but  they  brought  him 
nothing  but  disappointment.  The  whole  of  the  succeed- 
ing day  wore  away  in  the  same  uncomfortable  manner. 
His  heart  bounded  at  every  step  in  the  passage;  and 
throwing  open  his  room  door,  he  listened  to  every  person 
that  spoke,  but  no  voice  bore  any  resemblance  to  that  of 
Somerset. 


*  The  humble  English  home  of  Thaddeus  Sobieski  is  now  totally 
vanished,  along  with  the  whole  row  of  houses  of  which  it  was  one. 


TEA  DDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W.  1 47 

Night  again  shut  in;  and  overcome  by  a  train  of  doubts, 
in  which  despondence  held  the  greatest  share,  he  threw 
himself  on  his  bed,  though  unable  to  close  his  eyes. 

Whatever  be  our  afflictions,  not  one  human  creature 
who  has  endured  misfortune  will  hesitate  to  aver,  that  of 
all  the  tortures  incident  to  mortality,  there  are  none  like 
the  rackings  of  suspense.  It  is  the  hell  which  Milton 
describes  with  such  horrible  accuracy;  in  its  hot  and  cold 
regions,  the  anxious  soul  is  alternately  tossed  from  the 
ardors  of  hope  to  the  petrifying  rigors  of  doubt  and  dread. 
Men  who  have  not  been  suspended  between  confidence 
and  fear,  in  their  judgment  of  a  beloved  friend's  faithful- 
ness, are  ignorant  of  "the  nerve  whence  agonies  are  born." 
It  is  when  sunk  in  sorrow,  when  adversity  loads  us  with 
divers  miseries,  and  our  wretchedness  is  completed  by 
such  desertion — it  is  then  we  are  compelled  to  acknowl- 
edge that,  though  life  is  brief,  there  are  few  friendships 
which  have  strength  to  follow  it  to  the  end.  But  how 
precious  are  those  few!     They  are  pearls  above  price! 

Such  were  the  reflections  of  the  Count  Sobieski  when  he 
arose  in  the  morning  from  his  sleepless  pillow.  The  idea 
that  the  letter  might  have  been  delayed  afforded  him  a  faint 
hope,  which  he  cherished  all  day,  clinging  to  the  expecta- 
tion of  seeing  his  friend  before  sunset.  But  Somerset  did 
not  appear;  and  obliged  to  seek  an  excuse  for  his  absence 
in  the  supposition  of  his  application  having  miscarried, 
Thaddeus  determined  to  write  once  more,  and  to  deliver 
the  letter  himself  at  his  friend's  door.  Accordingly,  with 
emotions  different  from  those  with  which  he  had  addressed 
him  a  few  days  before,  he  wrote  these  lines: 

"To  Pemboke  Somerset,  Esq.: 

"If  he  who  once  called  Thaddeus  Sobieski  his  friend 
has  received  a  letter  which  that  exile  addressed  to  him  on 
Friday  last,  this  note  will  meet  the  same  neglect.  But  if 
this  be  the  first  intelligence  that  tells  Somerset  his  friend 
is  in  town,  perhaps  he  may  overlook  that  friend's  change 
of  fortune;  he  may  visit  him  in  his  distress,  who  will 
receive  him  with  open  arms,  at  his  humble  abode  in  St. 
Martin's  Lane. 

"Sunday  Evening,  No.  5  St  Martin's  Lane." 

Thaddeus  having  sealed  the  letter,  walked  out  in  search 


148  THADDEUS  OF  WA  USA  W. 

of  Sir  Eobert  Somerset's  habitation.  After  some  inquiries, 
lie  found  Grosvenor  Square;  and  amid  the  darkness  of 
the  night,  was  guided  to  the  house  by  the  light  of  the 
lamps  and  the  lusters  which  shone  through  the  open  win- 
dows. He  hesitated  a  few  minutes  on  the  pavement,  and 
looked  up.  An  old  gentleman  was  standing  with  a  little 
boy  at  the  nearest  window.  While  the  count's  eyes  were 
fixed  on  these  two  figures,  he  saw  Somerset  himself  come 
up  to  the  child,  and  lead  it  away  toward  a  group  of  ladies. 

Thaddeus  immediately  flew  to  the  door,  with  a  tremor 
over  his  frame  which  communicated  itself  to  the  knocker; 
for  he  knocked  with  such  violence  that  the  door  was 
opened  in  an  instant  by  half  a  dozen  footmen  at  once. 
He  spoke  to  one. 

"Is  Mr.  Pembroke  Somerset  at  home?" 

"Yes,"  replied  the  man,  who  saw  by  his  plain  dress 
that  he  could  not  be  an  invited  guest;  "but  he  is  engaged 
with  company." 

"I  do  not  want  to  see  him  now,"  rejoined  the  count; 
"only  give  him  that  letter,  for  it  is  of  consequence." 

"Certainly,  sir,"  replied  the  servant;  and  Thaddeus 
instantly  withdrew. 

He  now  turned  homeward,  with  his  mind  more  than 
commonly  depressed.  There  was  a  something  in  the 
whole  affair  which  pierced  him  to  the  soul.  He  had  seen 
the  house  that  contained  the  man  he  most  warmly  loved, 
but  he  had  not  been  admitted  within  it.  He  could  not 
forbear  recollecting  that  when  his  gates  opened  wide  as 
his  heart  to  welcome  Pembroke  Somerset,  how  he  had 
been  implored  by  his  then  grateful  friend  to  bring  the 
palatine  and  the  countess  to  England,  "where  his  father 
would  be  proud  to  entertain  them,  as  the  preservers  of  his 
son."  How  different  from  these  professions  did  he  find 
the  reality!  Instead  of  seeing  the  doors  widely  unclose 
to  receive  him,  he  was  allowed  to  stand  like  a  beggar  on 
the  threshold;  and  he  heard  them  shut  against  him,  while 
the  form  of  Somerset  glided  above  him,  even  as  the 
shadow  of  his  buried  joys. 

These  discomforting  retrospections  on  the  past,  aud 
painful  meditations  on  the  present,  continued  to  occupy 
his  mind,  until  crossing  over  from  Piccadilly  to  Coventry 
Street,  he  perceived  a  wretched-looking  man,  almost  bent 
double,  accosting  a  party  of  people  in  broken  French,  and 
imploring  their  charity. 


TEA  DD  E  VS  OF  WA  USA  W.  140 

The  voice  and  the  accent  being  Sclavonian,  arrested  the 
ear  of  Thaddeus.  Drawing  close  to  the  man,  as  the  party 
proceeded  without  taking  notice  of  the  application,  he 
hastily  asked,  "Are  you  a  Polander?" 

"Father  of  mercies!"  cried  the  beggar,  catching  hold  of 
his  hand,  "am  I  so  blessed !  have  I  at  last  met  him?"  and, 
bursting  into  tears,  he  leaned  upon  the  arm  of  the  count, 
who,  hardly  able  to  articulate  with  surprise,  exclaimed: 

"Dear,  worthy  Butzou!  What  a  time  is  this  for  you 
and  I  to  meet!     But,  come,  you  must  go  home  with  me." 

"Willingly,  my  dear  lord,"  returned  he;  "for  I  have 
no  home.  I  begged  my  way  from  Harwich  to  this  town, 
and  have  already  spent  two  dismal  nights  in  the  streets." 

"Oh,  my  country!"  cried  the  full  heart  of  Thaddeus. 

"Yes,"  continued  the  poor  old  soldier;  "it  received  its 
death-wounds  when  Kosciusko  and  my  honored  master 

fell." 

Thaddeus  could  not  reply;  but  supporting  the  ex- 
hausted frame  of  his  friend,  who  was  hardly  able  to  walk, 
after  many  pauses,  gladly  descried  his  own  door. 

The  widow  opened  it  the  moment  he  knocked;  and  see- 
ing some  one  with  him,  was  retreating,  when  Thaddeus, 
who  found  from  the  silence  of  Butzou  that  he  was  faint, 
begged  her  to  allow  him  to  take  his  companion  into  her 
parlor.  She  instantly  made  way,  and  the  count  placed 
the  now  insensible  old  man  in  the  arm-chair  by  the  fire. 

"He  is  my  friend,  my  father's  friend!"  cried  Thaddeus, 
looking  at  his  pale  and"  haggard  face,  with  a  strange  wild- 
ness  in  his  own  features;  "for  Heaven's  sake  give  me 
something  to  restore  him." 

Mrs.  Robson,  in  dismay,  and  literally  having  nothing 
better  in  the  house,  gave  him  a  glass  of  water. 

"That  will  not  do,"  exclaimed  he,  still  upholding  the 
motionless  body  on  his  arm;  "have  you  no  wine?  No 
anything?     He  is  dying  for  want." 

"None,  sir;  I  have  none,"  answered  she,  frightened  at 
the  violence  of  his  manner.  "Run,  Nanny,  and  borrow 
something  warming  of  Mrs.  Watts." 

"Or,"  cried  Thaddeus,  "bring  me  a  bottle  of  wine  from 
the  nearest  inn."  As  he  spoke  he  threw  her  the  only 
half -guinea  he  possessed,  and  added,  "Fly,  for  he  may 
die  in  a  moment." 

The  child  flew  like  lightning  to  the  Golden  Cross,  and 


15o  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

brought  the  wine  just  as  Butzon  had  opened  his  eyes,  and 
was  gazing  at  Thaddeus  with  a  languid  agony  that  pene- 
trated his  soul.  Mrs.  Kobson  held  the  water  to  his  lips. 
He  swallowed  a  little,  then  feebly  articulated,  "I  am 
perishing  for  want  of  food." 

Thaddeus  had  caught  the  bottle  from  Nanny,  and  pour- 
ing some  of  its  contents  into  a  glass,  made  him  drink  it. 
This  draught  revived  him  a  little.  He  raised  himself  in 
his  seat;  but  still  panting  and  speechless,  leaned  his 
swimming  head  upon  the  bosom  of  his  friend,  who  knelt 
by  his  side,  while  Mrs.  Robson  was  preparing  some  toasted 
bread,  with  a  little  more  heated  wine,  which  was  fortu- 
nately good  sherry. 

After  much  kind  exertion  between  the  good  landlady 
and  the  count,  they  sufficiently  recovered  the  poor  invalid 
to  enable  them  to  support  him  upstairs  to  lie  down  on  the 
bed.  The  drowsiness  usually  attendant  on  debility,  aided 
by  the  fumes  of  the  wine,  threw  him  into  an  immediate 
and  deep  sleep. 

Thaddeus  seeing  him  at  rest,  thought  it  proper  to  re- 
join Mrs.  Robson,  and  by  a  partial  history  of  his  friend, 
acquaint  her  with  the  occasion  of  the  foregoing  scene. 
He  found  the  good  woman  surprised  and  concerned,  but 
no  wav  displeased;  and,  in  a  few  words,  he  gave  her  a 
summary  explanation  of  the  precipitancy  with  which, 
without  her  permission,  he  had  introduced  a  stranger 
under  her  roof. 

The  substance  of  what  he  said  related  that  the  person 
upstairs  had  served  with  him  in  the  army;  that  on  the 
ruin  of  his  country  (which  he  could  no  longer  conceal  was 
Poland),  the  venerable  man  had  come  in  quest  of  him  to 
England,  and  in  his  journey  had  sustained  misfortunes 
which  had  reduced  him  to  the  state  she  saw. 

"I  met  him,"  continued  he,  "forlorn  and  alone  in  the 
street;  and  while  he  lives,  I  shall  hold  it  my  duty  to  pro- 
tect him.  I  love  him  for  his  own  sake,  and  I  honor  him 
for  my  grandfather's.  Besides,  Mrs.  Robson,"  cried  he, 
with  additional  energy,  "before  I  left  my  country,  I  made 
a  vow  to  my  sovereign  that  wherever  I  should  meet  this 
brave  old  man,  1  would  serve  him  to  the  last  hour  of  his 
life.  Therefore  we  must  part  no  more.  Will  you  give 
him  shelter?"  added  he,  in  a  subdued  voice.  "Will  yoa 
allow  me  to  retain  him  in  my  apartments?' ' 


TtIA  DDK  US  OF  WA  RSA  W.  151 

"Willingly,  sir;  but  how  can  I  accommodate  him?  he 
is  already  in  your  bed,  and  I  have  not  one  to  spare."  ^ 

"Leave  that  to  me,  best,  kindest  of  women!"  exclaimed 
the  count;  "your  permission  has  rendered  me  happy." 

He  then  wished  her  a  good-night,  and  returning  up- 
stairs, wrapped  himself  in  his  dressing-gown,  and  passed 
the  night  by  the  little  tire  of  the  sitting-room. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE   VETEKAN'S    NARRATIVE. 

Owing  to  comfortable  refreshment  and  a  night  of  un- 
disturbed sleep,  General  Butzou  awoke  in  the  morning 
much  recovered  from  the  weakness  which  had  subdued 
him  the  preceding  day. 

Thaddeus  observed  this  change  with  pleasure.  While 
he  sat  by  his  bed,  ministering  to  him  with  the  care  of  a 
son,  he  dwelt  with  a  melancholy  delight  on  his  revered 
features,  and  listened  to  his  languid  voice  with  those  ten- 
der associations  which  are  dear  to  the  heart,  though  they 
pierce  it  with  regretful  anguish. 

"Tell  me,  my  dear  general,"  said  he,  "for  I  can  bear  to 
hear  it  now — tell  me  what  has  befallen  my  unhappy 
country  since  I  quitted  it." 

"Every  calamity,"  cried  the  brave  old  man,  shaking 
his  head,  "that  tyranny  could  devise." 

"Well,  go  on,"  returned  the  count,  with  a  smile,  which 
truly  declared  that  the  composure  of  his  air  was  assumed; 
"we,  who  have  beheld  her  sufferings,  and  yet  live,  need 
not  fear  hearing  them  described !  Did  you  see  the  king 
before  he  left  Warsawr?" 

"No,"  replied  Butzou;  "our  oppressors  took  care  of 
that.  While  you,  my  lord,  were  recovering  from  your 
wounds  in  the  citadel,  I  set  off  for  Sachoryn,  to  join 
Prince  Poniatowski.  In  my  way  thither  I  met  some 
soldiers,  who  informed  me  that  his  highness,  having  been 
compelled  to  discharge  his  troops,  was  returning  to  sup- 
port his  royal  brother  under  the  indignities  which  the 
haughtiness  of  the  victor  might  premeditate.  I  then 
directed  my  steps  toward  Sendomir,  where  I  hoped  to  find 


[52  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Dorabrowski,  with  still  a  few  faithful  followers;  but  here, 
too,  I  was  disappointed.  Two  days  before  my  arrival, 
that  general,  according  to  orders,  had  disbanded  his_ whole 
party.*  I  now  found  that  Poland  was  completely  in  the 
bands  of  her  ravagers,  and  yet  I  prepared  to  return  into 
her  bosom;  my  feet  naturally  took  that  course.  But  I 
was  agonized  at  every  step  I  retrod.  I  beheld  the  shores 
of  the  Vistula  lined  on  every  side  with  the  allied  troops. 
Ten  thousand  were  posted  on  her  banks,  and  eighteen 
thousand  among  the  ruins  of  Praga  and  Villanow. 

"When  I  approached  the  walls  of  Warsaw,  imagine,  my 
dear  lord,  how  great  was  my  indignation !  How  barbarous 
the  conduct  of  our  enemies!  Batteries  of  cannon  were 
erected  around  the  city,  to  level  it  with  the  ground  on  the 
smallest  murmur  of  discontent. 

"On  the  morning  of  my  arrival,  I  was  hastening  to  the 
palace  to  pay  my  duty  to  the  king,  when  a  Cossack  officer 
intercepted  me,  whom  I  formerly  knew,  and  indeed  kindly 
warned  me  that  if  I  attempted  to  pass,  my  obstinacy 
would  be  fatal  to  myself  and  hazardous  to  his  majesty, 
whose  confinement  and  suffering  were  augmented  in  pro- 
portion to  the  adherents  he  retained  among  the  Poles. 
Hearing  this,  I  was  turning  away,  overwhelmed  with 
grief,  when  the  doors  of  the  audience  chamber  opened, 
and  the  Counts  Potocki,  Kilinski,  and  several  others  of 
your  grandfather's  dearest  friends,  were  led  forth  under  a 
guard.  I  was  standing  motionless  with  surprise,  when 
Potocki,  perceiving  me,  held  forth  his  hand.  I  took  it, 
and  wringing  it,  in  the  bitterness  of  my  heart  uttered  some 
words  which  I  cannot  remember,  but  my  Cossack  friend 
whispered  me  to  beware  how  I  again  gave  way  to  such 
dangerous  remarks. 

"  'Farewell,  my  worthy  general,'  said  Potocki  in  a  low 
voice;  'you  see  we  are  arrested.  We  loved  Poland  too 
faithfully  for  her  enemies;  and  for  that  reason  we  are  to 
be  sent  prisoners  to  St.  Petersburg.     Sharing  the  fate  of 

*  Dombrowski  withdrew  into  France,  where  he  was  soon  joined  by 
others  of  his  countrymen;  which  little  band,  in  process  of  time,  by 
gradual  accession  of  numbers,  became  what  was  afterward  styled 
the  celebrated  Polish  legion,  in  the  days  of  Napoleon;  at  the  head  of 
which  legion,  the  Prince  Poniatowski,  so  often  mentioned  in  these 
pages,  lost  his  life  in  the  fatal  frontier  river  his  dauntless  courage 
dared  to  swim.  His  remains  were  taken  to  Cracow  and  buried  neai 
to  the  tomb  of  John  Sobieski. 


TITADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  153 

Kosciusko,  our  chains  are  our  distinction;  such  a  collar 
of  merit  is  the  most  glorious  order  which  the  imperial 
scepter  could  bestow  on  a  knight  of  St.  Stanislaus.' 

"  'Sir,  I  cannot  admit  of  this  conversation,'  cried  the 
officer  of  the  guard;  and  commanding  the  escort  to  pro- 
ceed, I  lost  sight  of  these  illustrious  patriots,  probably 
forever.* 

"I  understood,  from  the  few  Poles  who  remained  in  the 
citadel,  that  the  good  Stanislaus  was  to  be  sent  on  the 
same  dismal  errand  of  captivity,  to  Grodno,  the  next  day. 
They  also  told  me  that  Poland  being  no  more,  you  had 
torn  yourself  from  its  bleeding  remains,  rather  than  be- 
hold the  triumphant  entry  of  its  conqueror.  This  insult- 
ing pageant  was  performed  on  the  9th  of  November  last. 
On  the  8th,  I  believe  you  left  Warsaw  for  England." 

"Yes,"  replied  the  count,  who  had  listened  with  a 
breaking  heart  to  this  distressing  narrative;  "and  doubt- 
less I  saved  myself  much  misery." 

"You  did.  One  of  the  magistrates  described  to  me  the 
whole  scene,  at  which  I  would  not  have  been  present  for 
the  world's  empire!  He  told  me  that  when  the  morning 
arrived  in  which  General  Suwarrow,  attended  by  the 
confederated  envoys,  was  to  make  his  public  e?itree,  not  a 
citizen  could  be  seen  that  was  not  compelled  to  appear. 
A  dead  silence  reigned  in  the  streets;  the  doors  and  win- 
dows of  every  house  remained  so  closed  that  a  stranger 
might  have  supposed  it  to  be  a  general  mourning;  and  it 
was  the  bitterest  sight  which  could  have  fallen  upon  our 
souls!  At  this  moment,  when  Warsaw,  I  may  say,  lay 
dying  at  the  feet  of  her  conqueror,  the  foreign  troops 
marched  into  the  city,  the  only  spectators  of  their  own 
horrible  tragedy.  At  length,  with  eyes  which  could  no 
longer  weep,  the  magistrates,  reluctant,  and  full  of  indig- 
nation, proceeded  to  meet  the  victor  on  the  bridge  of 
Praga.  When  they  came  near  the  procession,  they  pre- 
sented the  keys  of  Warsaw  on  their  knees." 

"On  their  knees!"  interrupted  Thaddeus,  starting  up 
and  the  blood  flushing  over  his  face. 

*  The  Potocki  family  at  that  time  bad  still  large  possessions  in  tlie 
Crimean  country  of  the  Cossacks;  for  it  had  formerly  belonged  to  the 
crown  of  Poland.  And  hence  a  kind  of  kindred  memory  lingered 
among  the  people:  not  disaffecting  them  from  their  new  masters,  but 
allowing  a  natuial  respect  for  the  descendants  of  the  old. 


154  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"Yes,"  answered  Butzou,"  on  their  knees.' 

"Almighty  Justice!"  exclaimed  the  count,  pacing  the 
room  with  emotion;  "why  did  not  the  earth  open  and 
swallow  them?  Why  did  not  the  blood  which  saturated 
the  spot  whereon  they  knelt  cry  out  to  them?  0  Butzou, 
this  humiliation  of  Poland  is  worse  to  me  than  all  her 
miseries!" 

"I  felt  as  you  feel,  my  lord,"  continued  the  general, 
"and  I  expressed  myself  with  the  same  resentment;  but 
the  magistrate  who  related  to  me  that  circumstance  urged 
in  excuse  for  himself  and  his  brethren  that  such  a  form 
was  necessary;  and  had  they  refused,  probably  their  lives 
would  have  been  forfeited." 

"Well,"  inquired  Thaddeus,  resuming  his  seat,  "but 
where  was  the  king  during  this  transaction?" 

"In  the  castle,  where  he  received  orders  to  be  present 
next  day  at  a  public  thanksgiving,  at  which  the  inhabit- 
ants of  Warsaw  were  also  commanded  to  attend,  to  per- 
form a  Te  Deum,  in  gratitude  for  the  destruction  of  their 
country.  Thank  Heaven !  I  was  spared  from  witnessing 
this  blasphemy;  I  was  then  at  Sendomir.  But  the  day 
after  I  had  heard  of  it,  I  saw  the  carriage  which  contained 
the  good  Stanislaus  guarded  like  a  traitor's  out  of  the 
gates,  and  that  very  hour  I  left  the  city.  I  made  my  way 
to  Hamburg,  where  I  took  a  passage  to  Harwich.  But 
when  there,  owing  to  excessive  fatigue,  one  of  my  old 
wounds  broke  out  afresh;  and  continuing  ill  a  week,  I 
expended  all  my  money.  Reduced  to  my  last  shilling, 
and  eager  to  find  you,  I  begged  my  way  from  that  town  to 
this.  I  had  already  spent  two  miserable  days  and  nights 
in  the  open  air,  with  no  other  sustenance  than  the  casual 
charity  of  passengers,  when  Heaven  sent  you,  my  honored 
Sobieski,  to  save  me  from  perishing  in  the  streets." 

Butzou  pressed  the  hand  of  his  young  friend  as  he  con- 
cluded.    Indignation  still  kept  its  station  on  the  count's 

features. 

The  poor  expatriated  wanderer  observed  it  with  satis- 
faction, well  pleased  that  this  strong  emotion  at  the  sup- 
posed pusillanimity  of  his  countrymen  had  prevented 
those  bursts  of  grief  which  might  have  been  expected 
from  his  sensitive  nature,  when  informed  that  ruined 
Poland  was  not  only  treated  by  its  ravagers  like  a  slave, 
bnt  loaded  with  the  shackles  and  usage  of  a  criminal. 

Toward  evening  General  Butzou  fell  asleep.     Thaddeus, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  155 

leaning  back  in  his  chair,  fixed  his  eyes  on  tne  fire,  and 
mused  with  amazement  and  sorrow  on  what  had  been  told 
him.  When  it  was  almost  dark,  and  he  was  yet  lost  in 
reflection,  Mrs.  Robson  gently  opened  the  door  and  pre- 
sented a  letter.  "Here,  sir,"  said  she,  "is  a  letter  which 
a  servant  has  just  left;  he  told  me  it  required  no  answer." 

Thaddeus  sprang  from  his  seat  at  sight  of  the  paper, 
and  almost  catching  it  from  her,  his  former  gloomy  cogi- 
tations dispersed  before  the  hopes  and  fond  emotions  of 
friendship  which  now  lit  np  in  his  bosom.  Mrs.  Robson 
withdrew.  He  looked  at  the  superscription — it  was  the 
handwriting  of  his  friend.  Tearing  it  asunder,  two 
folded  papers  presented  themselves.  He  opened  them, 
and  they  were  his  own  letters,  returned  without  a  word. 
His  beating  heart  was  suddenly  checked.  Letting  the 
papers  fall  from  his  hand,  he  dropped  back  on  his  seat 
and  closed  his  eyes,  as  if  he  would  shut  from  them  the 
world  and  its  ingratitude. 

Unable  to  recover  from  his  astonishment,  his  thoughts 
whirled  about  in  a  succession  of  accusations,  surmises,  and 
doubts,  which  seemed  for  a  few  minutes  to  drive  him  to 
distraction. 

"Was  it  really  the  hand  of  Somerset?" 

Again  he  examined  the  envelope.  It  was;  and  the 
inclosures  were  his  own  letters,  without  one  word  of  apol- 
ogy for  such  incomprehensible  conduct. 

"Could  he  make  one?  No,"  replied  Thaddeus  to  him- 
self. "Unhappy  that  I  am,  to  have  been  induced  to 
apply  twice  to  so  despicable  a  man!  Oh,  Somerset," 
cried  he,  looking  at  the  papers  as  they  lay  before  him; 
"was  it  necessary  that  insult  should  be  added  to  unfaith- 
fulness and  ingratitude,  to  throw  me  off  entirely?  Good 
heavens!  did  he  think  because  I  wrote  twice,  I  would 
persecute  him  with  applications?  I  have  been  told  this 
of  mankind;  but  that  I  should  find  it  in  him!" 

In  this  way,  agitated  and  muttering,  and  walking  up 
and  down  the  room,  he  spent  another  wakeful  and  cheer- 
less night. 

When  he  went  downstairs  next  morning,  to  beg  Mrs. 
Robson  to  attend  his  friend  until  his  return,  she  men- 
tioned how  uneasy  she  was  at  having  heard  him  most  of 
the  preceding  night  moving  above  her  head.  He  was  try- 
ing to  account  to  her  for  his  restlessness,  by  complaining 


156  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

of  a  headache,  but  she  interrupted  him  by  saying,  "Oh, 
no,  sir;  I  am  sure  it  is  the  hard  boards  you  lie  on,  to 
accommodate  the  poor  old  gentleman.  I  am  certain  you 
will  make  yourself  ill." 

Thaddeus  thanked  her  for  her  solicitude;  but  declaring 
that  all  beds,  hard  or  soft,  were  alike  to  him,  he  left  her 
more  reconciled  to  his  pallet  on  the  floor.  And  with  his 
drawings  in  his  pocket,  once  more  took  the  path  to  Great 
Newport  Street. 

Resentment  against  his  fickle  friend,  and  anxiety  for 
the  tranquillity  of  General  Butzou,  whose  age,  infirmities, 
and  sufferings  threatened  a  speedy  termination  of  his  life, 
determined  the  count  to  sacrifice  all  false  delicacy  and 
morbid  feelings,  and  to  hazard  another  attempt  at  acquir- 
ing the  means  of  affording  those  comforts  to  the  sick 
veteran  which  his  condition  demanded.  Happen  how  it 
would,  he  resolved  that  Butzou  should  never  know  the 
complete  wreck  of  his  property.  He  shuddered  at  load- 
ing him  with  the  additional  distress  of  thinking  he  was  a 
burden  on  his  protector. 

Thaddeus  passed  the  door  of  the  print  seller  who  had 
behaved  so  ill  to  him  on  his  first  application;  and  walking 
to  the  furthest  shop  on  the  same  side,  entered  it.  Laying 
his  drawings  on  the  counter,  he  requested  the  person  who 
stood  there  to  look  at  them.  They  were  immediately 
opened;  and  the  count,  dreading  a  second  repulse,  or  even 
more  than  similar  insolence,  hastily  added : 

"They  are  scenes  in  Germany.  If  you  like  to  have 
them,  their  price  is  a  guinea." 

"Are  you  the  painter,  sir?"  was  the  reply. 

"Yes,  sir.     Do  they  please  you?" 

"Yes,"  answered  the  tradesman  (for  it  was  the  master), 
examining  them  nearer;  "there  is  a  breadth  and  freedom 
in  the  style  which  is  novel,  and  may  take.  I  will  give 
you  your  demand;"  and  he  laid  the  money  on  the  counter. 

Rejoiced  that  he  had  succeeded  where  he  had  enter- 
tained no  hope,  Thaddeus,  with  a  bow,  was  leaving  the 
shop,  when  the  man  called  after  him,  "Stay,  sir!" 

He  returned,  prepared  to  now  hear  some  disparaging 
remark. 

It  is  strange,  but  it  is  true,  that  those  who  have  been 
thrust  by  misfortune  into  a  state  beneath  their  birth  and 
expectations,  too  often  consider  themselves  the  objects  of 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W<  157 

universal  hostility.  They  see  contempt  in  every  eye,  they 
suppose  insult  in  every  word;  the  slightest  neglect  is 
sufficient  to  set  the  sensitive  pride  of  the  unfortunate  in  a 
place;  and,  alas!  how  little  is  this  sensibility  respected  by 
the  rich  and  gay  in  their  dealings  with  the  unhappy!  To 
Avhat  an  addition  of  misery  are  the  wretched  exposed, 
meeting  not  only  those  contumelies  which  the  prosperous 
are  not  backward  to  bestow,  but  those  fancied  ills  which, 
however  unfounded,  keep  the  mind  in  a  feverish  struggle 
with  itself,  and  an  uttered  warfare  with  the  surrounding 
world ! 

Kepeated  insults  infused  into  the  mind  of  Sobieski 
much  of  this  anticipating  irritability ;  and  it  was  with  a 
very  haughty  step  that  he  turned  back  to  hear  what  the 
print  seller  meant  to  sa}\ 

"I  only  want  to  ask  whether  you  follow  this  art  as  a 
profession?" 

"Yes." 

''Then  I  shall  be  glad  if  you  can  furnish  me  with  six 
such  drawings  every  week." 

"Certainly,"  replied  Thaddeus,  pleased  with  the  proba- 
bility of  thus  securing  something  toward  the  support  of 
his  friend. 

"Then  bring  me  another  half-dozen  next  Monday." 

Thaddeus  promised,  and  with  a  relieved  mind  took  his 
way  homeward. 

Who  is  there  in  England,  I  repeat,  who  does  not 
remember  the  dreadfully  protracted  winter  of  1794,  when 
the  whole  country  lay  buried  in  a  thick  ice  which  seemed 
eternal?  Over  that  ice,  and  through  those  snows  the 
venerable  General  Butzou  had  begged  his  way  from  Har- 
wich to  London.  He  rested  at  night  under  the  shelter  of 
some  shed  or  outhouse,  and  cooled  his  feverish  thirst  with 
a  little  water  taken  from  under  the  broken  ice  which 
locked  up  the  springs.  The  effect  of  this  was  a  painful 
rheumatism,  which  fixed  itself  in  his  limbs,  and  soon  ren- 
dered them  nearly  useless. 

Two  or  three  weeks  passed  over  the  heads  of  the  gen- 
eral and  his  young  protector,  Thaddeus  cheering  the  old 
man  with  his  smiles,  and  he,  in  return,  imparting  the 
only  pleasure  to  him  which  his  melancholy  heart  could 
receive — the  conviction  that  his  attentions  and  affection 
were  productive  of  comfort. 


158  TEADBEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

In  the  exercise  of  these  duties,  the  count  not  only  found 
his  health  gradually  recover  its  tone,  but  his  mind  became 
more  tranquil,  and  less  prone  to  those  sudden  floods  of 
regret  which  were  rapidly  sapping  his  life.  By  a  strict 
economy  on  his  part,  he  managed  to  pay  the  widow  and 
support  his  friend  out  of  the  weekly  profits  of  his  draw- 
ings, which  were  now  and  then  augmented  by  a  commis- 
sion to  do  one  or  two  more  than  the  stipulated  number. 

Thus,  conversing  with  Butzou,  reading  to  him  when 
awake  or  pursuing  his  drawings  when  he  slept,  Thaddeus 
spent  the  time  until  the  beginning  of  March. 

One  fine  starlight  evening  in  that  month,  just  before 
the  frost  broke  up,  after  painting  all  day,  he  desired  little 
Nanny  to  take  care  of  the  general;  and  leaving  his  work 
at  the  print  seller's,  he  then  proceeded  through  Piccadilly, 
intending  to  go  as  far  as  Hyde  Park  Corner,  and  return. 

Pleased  with  the  beauty  of  the  night,  he  walked  on, 
not  remarking  that  he  had  passed  the  turnpike,  until  he 
heard  a  scream.  The  sound  came  from  near  the  park 
wall.  He  hurried  along  and  at  a  short  distance  perceived 
a  delicate-looking  woman  struggling  with  a  man,  who  was 
assaulting  her  in  a  very  offensive  manner. 

Without  a  moment's  hesitation,  with  one  blow  of  his 
arm  Thaddeus  sent  the  fellow  reeling  against  the  wall. 
But  while  be  supported  the  outraged  person  who  seemed 
fainting,  the  man  recovered  himself,  and  rushing  on  her 
champion,  aimed  a  stroke  at  his  head  with  an  immense 
bludgeon,  which  the  count,  catching  hold  of  as  it  de- 
sceuded,  wrenched  out  of  his  hand.  The  horrid  oaths  of 
the  ruffian  and  the  sobs  of  his  rescued  victim  collected  a 
mob;  and  then  the  villain,  fearing  worse  usage,  made  off 
and  left  Thaddeus  to  restore  the  terrified  female  at  his 
leisure. 

As  soon  as  she  was  able  to  speak,  she  thanked  her  de- 
liverer in  a  voice  and  language  that  assured  him  it  was 
no  common  person  he  had  befriended.  But  in  the  cir- 
cumstance of  her  distress,  all  would  have  been  the  same 
to  him;  a  helpless  woman  was  insulted;  and  whatever  her 
rank  might  be,  he  thought  she  had  an  equal  claim  on  his 
protection. 

The  mob  dispersed;  and  finding  the  lady  capable  of 
walking,  he  begged  permission  to  see  her  safe  home. 

"I  thank  you,  sir/'  she  replied,   "and  I  accept  your 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  159 

offer  with  gratitude.  Besides,  after  your  generous  inter- 
ference, it  is  requisite  that  I  should  account  to  you  how  a 
woman  of  my  appearance  came  out  at  this  hour  without 
attendance.  I  have  no  other  excuse  to  advance  for  such 
imprudence  than  that  I  have  often  done  so  with  impunity. 
I  have  a  friend  whose  husband,  being  in  the  Life  Guards, 
lives  near  the  barracks.  We  often  drink  tea  with  each 
other;  sometimes  my  servants  come  for  me,  and  some- 
times, when  I  am  wearied  and  indisposed,  I  come  away 
earlier  and  alone.  This  happened  to-night;  and  I  have 
to  thank  your  gallantry,  sir,  for  my  rescue  from  the  first 
outrage  of  the  kind  which  ever  assailed  me." 

By  the  time  that  a  few  more  complimentary  words  on 
her  side,  and  a  modest  reply  from  Thaddeus,  had  passed, 
they  stopped  before  a  house  in  Grosvenor  Place.*  The 
lady  knocked  at  the  door;  and  as  soon  as  it  was  opened, 
the  count  was  taking  his  leave,  but  she  laid  her  hand  on 
his  arm,  and  said,  in  a  voice  of  sincere  invitation : 

"No,  sir;  I  must  not  lose  the  opportunity  of  convincing 
you  that  you  have  not  succored  a  person  unworthy  of 
your  kindness.     I  entreat  you  to  walk  in!" 

Thaddeus  was  too  much  pleased  with  her  manner  not 
to  accept  this  courtesy.  He  followed  her  upstairs  into  a 
drawing-room,  where  a  young  lady  was  seated  at  work. 

"Miss  Egerton,"  cried  his  conductress,  "here  is  a  gen- 
tleman who  has  this  moment  saved  me  from  a  ruffian. 
You  must  assist  me  to  express  my  gratitude." 

"I  would  with  all  my  heart,"  returned  she;  "but  your 
ladyship  confers  benefits  so  well,  you  cannot  be  at  a  loss 
how  to  receive  them." 

Thaddeus  took  the  chair  which  a  servant  set  for  him, 
and,  with  mingled  pleasure  and  admiration,  turned  his 
eyes  on  the  lovely  woman  he  had  rescued.  She  had 
thrown  off  her  cloak  and  veil,  and  displayed  a  figure  and 
countenance  full  of  dignity  and  interest. 

She  begged  him  to  lay  aside  his  great-coat,  for  she  must 
insist  upon  his  supping  with  her.     There  was  a  command- 

*  All  this  local  scenery  is  changed.  There  is  no  turnpike  gate  now 
at  the  Hyde-  Park  end  of  Piccadilly;  neither  is  there  a  park  wall. 
Splendid  railings  occupy  its  place;  and  two  superb  triumphal  arches, 
in  the  fashion  of  France,  one  leading  into  the  park  and  ths  other 
leading  toward  Buckingham  Palace,  gorgeously  fill  the  sites  <>l  the 
former  plain,  wayfaring  English  *ur»»ik*  Igdgss.     (1845.) 


160  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

ing  softness  in  her  manner  and  a  gentle  yet  unappealable 
decision  in  her  voice  he  could  not  withstand;  and  he  pre- 
pared to  obey,  although  he  was  aware  the  fashion  and 
richness  of  the  military  dress  concealed  under  his  coat 
would  give  her  ideas  of  his  situation  he  could  not  answer. 

The  lady  did  not  notice  his  hesitaton,  bnt,  ringing  the 
bell,  desired  the  servant  to  take  the  gentleman's  hat  and 
coat.  Thaddeus  instantly  saw  in  the  looks  of  both  the 
ladies  what  he  feared. 

"I  perceive,"  said  the  elder,  as  she  took  her  seat,  "that 
my  deliverer  is  in  the  army:  yet  I  do  not  recollcet  having 
seen  that  uniform  before." 

"I  am  not  an  Englishman,"  returned  he. 

"Not  an  Englishman,"  exclaimed  Miss  Egerton,  "and 
speak  the  language  so  accurately!  You  cannot  be 
French?" 

"No,  madam;  I  had  the  honor  of  serving  under  the 
King  of  Poland." 

"Then  his  was  a  very  gallant  court,  I  suppose,"  re- 
joined Miss  Egerton,  with  a  smile;  "for  I  am  sorry  to  say 
there  are  few  about  St.  James'  who  would  have  taken  the 
trouble  to  do  what  you  have  done  by  Lady  Tinemouth." 

He  returned  the  young  lady's  smile.  "I  have  seen  too 
little,  madam,  of  Englishmen  of  rank  to  show  any  gallan- 
try in  defending  this  part  of  my  sex  against  so  fair  an 
accuser."  Indeed,  he  recollected  the  officers  in  the  park, 
and  the  perfidy  of  Somerset,  and  thought  he  had  no 
reason  to  give  them  more  respect  than  their  country- 
women manifested. 

"Come,  come,  Sophia,"  cried  Lady  Tinemouth; 
"though  no  woman  has  less  cause  to  speak  well  of  man- 
kind than  I  have,  I  will  not  permit  my  countrymen  to  be 
run  down  in  toto.  I  dare  say  this  gentleman  will  agree 
with  me  that  it  shows  neither  a  candid  nor  a  patriotic 
spirit." 

Her  ladyship  uttered  this  little  rebuke  smilingly. 

"I  dare  say  he  will  not  agree  with  yon,  Lady  Tine- 
mouth.  No  gentleman  yet,  who  had  his  wits  about  him, 
ever  agreed  with  an  elder  lady  against  a  younger.  Now, 
Mr.  Gentleman — for  it  seems  the  name  by  which  we 
are  to  address  you — what  do  you  say?  Am  I  so  very 
reprobate?" 

Thaddeus  almost  laughed  at  the  singular  way  eh©  had 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  161 

chosen  to  ask  his  name;  and  allowing  some  of  the  gloom 
wnicn  generally  obscured  his  fine  eyes  to  disperse,  he 
answered  with  a  smile: 

"My  name  is  Constantine." 

"Well,  you  have  replied  to  my  last  question  first;  but 
I  will  not  let  you  off  about  my  sometimes  bearish  country- 
men. I  do  assure  you  the  race  of  the  Ealeighs,  with  their 
footstep  cloaks,  is  quite  Jiors  de  combat ;  and  so  don't  you 
think,  Mr.  Constantine,  I  may  call  them  so,  without  any 
breach  of  good  manners  to  them  or  duty  to  my  country? 
For  you  see  her  ladyship  hangs  much  upon  a  spinster's 
patriotism." 

Lady  Tinemouth  shook  her  head. 

"Oh,  Sophia,  Sophia,  you  are  a  strange  madcap." 

"I  don't  care  for  that;  I  will  have  Mr.  Constantine's 
unprejudiced  reply.  I  am  sure  if  he  had  taken  as  long  a 
time  m  answering  your  call  as  he  does  mine,  the  ruffian 
might  have  killed  and  eaten  you  too  before  he  moved  to 
your  assistance.  Come,  may  I  not  say  they  are  anything 
but  well-bred  men?" 

"Certainly.     A  fair  lady  may  say  anything." 

"Positively,  Mr.  Constantine,  I  won't  endure  contempt! 
Say  such  another  word  and  I  will  call  you  as  abominable  a 
creature  as  the  worst  of  them." 

"But  I  am  not  a  proper  judge,  Miss  Egerton.  I  have 
never  been  in  company  with  any  of  these  men;  so,  to  be 
impartial,  I  must  suspend  my  opinion." 

"And  not  believe  my  word!" 

Thaddeus  smiled  and  bowed. 

"There,  Lady  Tinemouth,"  cried  she,  affecting  pet, 
"take  your  champion  to  yourself;  he  is  no  preux  chevalier 
for  me!" 

"Thank  you,  Sophia,"  returned  her  ladyship,  giving 
her  hand  to  the  count  to  lead  her  to  the  supper-room. 
"This  is  the  way  she  skirmishes  with  all  your  sex,  until 
her  shrewd  humor  transforms  them  to  its  own  likeness." 

"And  where  is  the  man,"  observed  Thaddeus,  "who 
would  not  be  so  metamorphosed  under  the  spells  of  such 
a  Circe?" 

"It  won't  do,  Mr.  Constantine,"  cried  she,  taking  her 
place  opposite  to  him;  "my  anger  is  not  to  be  appeased 
by  calling  me  names;  you  don't  mend  the  compliment  by 
likening  me  to  a  heathen  and  a  witch." 


162  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Lady  Tinemonth  bore  her  part  in  the  conversation  in  a 
strain  more  in  nuison  with  the  count's  mind.  However, 
he  found  no  inconsiderable  degree  of  amusement  from  the 
unreflecting  volubility  and  giddy  sallies  of  her  friend; 
and,  on  the  whole,  spent  the  two  hours  he  passed  there 
with  some  perceptions  of  his  almost  forgotten  sense  of 
pleasure. 

He  was  in  an  elegant  apartment,  in  the  company  of  two 
lovely  and  accomplished  women,  and  he  was  the  object  of 
their  entire  attention  and  gratitude.  He  had  been  used 
to  this  in  his  days  of  happiness,  when  he  was  "the  expec- 
tancy and  rose  of  the  fair  state,  the  glass  of  fashion  and 
the  mold  of  form — the  observed  of  all  observers!"  and 
the  reappearance  of  such  a  scene  awakened,  with  tender 
remembrances,  an  associating  sensibility  which  made  him 
rise  with  regret  when  the  clock  struck  eleven. 

Lady  Tinemouth  bade  him  good-night,  with  an  earnest 
request  that  he  would  shortly  repeat  his  visit;  and  they 
parted  mutually  pleased  with  each  other. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

FRIENDSHIP   A    STAFF  IN  HUMAN    LIFE. 

Pleased  as  the  count  was  with  the  acquaintance  to 
which  his  gallantry  had  introduced  him,  he  did  not  repeat 
his  visit  for  a  long  time. 

A  few  mornings  after  his  meeting  with  Lady  Tine- 
mouth,  the  hard  frost  broke  up.  The  change  in  the 
atmosphere  produced  so  alarming  a  relapse  of  the  general's 
rheumatic  fever  that  his  friend  watched  by  his  pillow  ten 
days  and  nights.  At  the  end  of  this  period  he  recovered 
sufficiently  to  sit  up  and  read  or  to  amuse  himself  by 
registering  the  melancholy  events  of  the  last  campaigns 
in  a  large  book,  and  illustrating  it  with  plans  of  the 
battles.  The  sight  of  this  volume  would  have  distressed 
Thaddeus,  had  he  not  seen  that  it  afforded  comfort  to  the 
poor  veteran,  whom  it  transported  back  into  the  scenes 
on  which  he  delighted  to  dwell;  yet  he  would  of  ten  lay 
down  his  pen,  shut  the  book,  and  weep  like  an  infant. 

The  oonnfc  Uft,  him  one   Baeraing  at  his  employment, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  163 

and  strolled  out,  with  the  intention  of  calling  on  Lady 
Tinemouth.  As  he  walked  along  by  Burlington  House, 
he  perceived  Pembroke  Somerset,  with  an  elderly  gentle- 
man, of  a  very  distinguished  air,  leaning  on  his  arm. 
They  approached  him  from  Bond  Street. 

All  the  blood  in  the  count's  body  seemed  rushing  to 
his  heart.  He  trembled.  The  ingenuous  smile  on  his 
friend's  countenance,  and  his  features  so  sweetly  marked 
with  frankness,  made  his  resolution  falter. 

"But  proofs,"  cried  he  to  himself,  "are  absolute!"  and 
turning  his  face  to  a  stand  of  books  that  was  near  him,  he 
stood  there  until  Somerset  had  passed.  He  went  past 
him  speaking  these  words: 

"I  trust,  father,  that  ingratitude  is  not  his  vice." 

"But  it  is  yours,  Somerset!"  murmured  Thaddeus, 
while  for  a  moment  he  gazed  after  them,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded on  his  walk. 

When  his  name  was  announced  at  Lady  Tinemouth's, 
he  found  her  with  another  lady,  but  not  Miss  Egerton. 
Lady  Tinemouth  expressed  her  pleasure  at  this  visit,  and 
her  surprise  that  it  had  been  so  long  deferred. 

"The  pain  of  such  an  apparent  neglect  of  your  lady- 
ship's goodness,"  replied  he,  "has  been  added  to  my 
anxiety  for  the  declining  health  of  a  friend,  whose  in- 
creased illness  is  my  apology." 

"I  wish,"  returned  her  ladyship,  her  eyes  beaming 
approbation,  "that  all  my  friends  could  excuse  their 
absence  so  well!" 

"Perhaps  they  might  if  they  chose,"  observed  the  other 
lady,  "and  with  equal  sincerity." 

Thaddeus  understood  the  incredulity  couched  under 
these  words.  So  did  Lady  Tinemouth,  who,  however,  re- 
joined, "Be  satisfied,  Mr.  Constantine,  that  I  believe 
you." 

The  count  bowed. 

"Fie,  Lady  Tinemouth!"  cried  the  lady;  "you  are  par- 
tial :  nay,  you  are  absurd ;  did  you  ever  yet  hear  a  man 
speak  truth  to  a  woman?" 

"Lady  Sara!"  replied  her  ladyship,  with  one  of  those 
arch  glances  which  seldom  visited  her  eyes,  "where  will 
be  your  vanity  if  I  assent  to  this?" 

"In  the  moon,  with  man's  sincerity." 

Thaddeus  paid  little  attention  to  this  dialogue.     His 


K54  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

thoughts,  in  spite  of  himself,  were  wandering  after  the 
figures  of  Somerset  and  his  father. 

Lady  Tinemouth,  whose  fancy  had  not  heen  quiet  about 
him  since  his  prompt  humanity  had  introduced  him  to 
her  acquaintance,  observed  his  present  absence  without 
noticing  it.  Indeed,  the  fruitful  imagination  of  Sophia 
Egerton  had  not  lain  still.  She  declared  he  "was  a 
soldier  by  his  dress,  a  man  of  rank  from  his  manners,  an 
Apollo  in  his  person,  and  a  hero  from  his  gallantry!" 

Thus  had  Miss  Egerton  described  him  to  Lady  Sara 
Ross,  "and,"  added  she,  "what  convinces  me  he  is  a 
man  of  fashion,  he  has  not  been  within  these  walls  since 
we  told  him  we  should  take  it  as  a  favor." 

Lady  Sara  was  eager  to  see  this  handsome  stranger;  and 
having  determined  to  drop  in  at  Lady  Tinemouth's  every 
morniug  until  her  curiosity  was  gratified,  she  was  not  a 
little  pleased  when  she  heard  his  name  announced. 

Lady  Sara  was  married ;  but  she  was  young  and  of  great 
beauty,  and  she  liked  that  its  power  should  be  acknowl- 
edged by  others  besides  her  husband.  The  instant  she 
beheld  the  Count  Sobieski,  she  formed  the  wish  to  en- 
tangle him  in  her  flowery  chains.  She  learned,  by  his 
pale  countenance  and  thoughtful  air,  that  he  was  a  mel- 
ancholy character;  and  above  all  things  she  sighed  for 
such  a  lover.  She  expected  to  receive  from  one  of  his 
cast  a  rare  tenderness  and  devotedness;  in  short,  a  fervent 
and  romantic  passion— the  fashion  of  the  day  ever  ^since 
the  extravagant  French  romances,  such  as  "Delphine"  and 
the  like,  came  in;  and  this  unknown  foreigner  appeared 
to  her  to  be  the  very  creature  of  whom  her  fancy  had  been 
in  search.  His  abstraction,  his  voice  and  eyes,  the  one 
so  touching  and  the  other  so  neglectful  of  anything  but 
the  ground,  were  irresistible,  and  she  resolved  from  that 
moment  (in  her  own  words)  "to  make  a  set  at  him." 

Not  less  pleased  with  this  second  view  of  her  acquaint- 
ance than  she  had  been  at  the  first,  Lady  Tinemouth 
directed  her  discourse  to  him,  accompanied  by  all  that 
winning  interest  so  endearing  to  an  ingenuous  heart. 
Lady  Sara  never  augured  well  to  the  success  of  her  fasci- 
nations when  the  countess  addressed  any  of  her  victims; 
and  therefore  she  now  tried  every  means  in  her  power  to 
draw  aside  the  attention  of  the  count.  She  played  with 
her  ladyship's  dog;  but  that  not  succeeding,  she  deter- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  105 

mined  to  strike  him  at  once  with  the  fnll  graces  of  her 
figure.  Complaining  of  heat,  she  threw  off  her  large  green 
velvet  mantle,  and  rising  from  her  chair,  walked  toward 
the  window. 

When  she  looked  round  to  enjoy  her  victory,  she  saw 
that  this  maneuver  had  failed  like  the  rest,  for  the  pro- 
voking countess  was  still  standing  between  her  and  Thad- 
deus.  Almost  angry,  she  flung  open  the  sash,  and  putting 
her  head  out  of  the  window,  exclaimed,  in  her  best-modu- 
lated tones: 

"How  d'ye  do?" 

"I  hope  your  ladyship  is  well  this  fine  morning!"  was 
answered  in  the  voice  of  Pembroke  Somerset. 

Thaddeus  grew  pale,  and  the  countess  feeling  the  cold, 
turned  about  to  ask  Lady  Sara  to  whom  she  was  speaking. 

"To  a  pest  of  mine,"  returned  she  gayly;  and  then, 
stretching  out  her  neck,  resumed:  "but  where,  in  the 
name  of  wonder,  Mr.  Somerset,  are  you  driving  with  all 
that  traveling  apparatus?" 

"To  Deerhurst:  I  am  going  to  take  Lord  Avon  down. 
But  I  keep  you  in  the  cold.     Good-morning!" 

"My  compliments  to  Sir  Robert.  Good-by!  good-by!" 
waving  her  white  hand  until  his  curricle  vanished  from 
sight;  and  when  she  turned  round,  her  desires  were  grat- 
ified, for  the  elegant  stranger  was  standing  with  his  eyes 
fixed  on  that  hand.  But  had  she  known  that,  for  any 
cognizance  they  took  of  its  beauty,  they  might  as  well 
have  been  fixed  on  vacancy,  she  would  not  have  pulled 
down  the  window,  and  reseated  herself  with  such  an  air 
of  triumph. 

The  count  took  his  seat  with  a  sigh,  and  Lady  Tine- 
mouth  did  the  same. 

"So  that  is  the  son  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset?" 

"Yes,"  replied  Lady  Sara;  "and  what  does  your  lady- 
ship think  of  him?    He  is  called  very  handsome." 

"You  forget  that  I  am  near-sighted,"  answered  the 
countess;  "I  could  not  discriminate  his  features,  but  I 
think  his  figure  fine.  I  remember  his  father  was  a  sin- 
gularly admired  man,  and  celebrated  for  taste  and  talents." 

"That  may  be,"  resumed  Lady  Sara,  laughing,  and 
anxious  to  excite  some  emotion  of  rivalry  in  the  breast  of 
Thaddeus.  "I  am  sure  I  ought  not  to  call  in  question  his 
talents  and  taste,  for  he  has  often  wished  that  fate  had 


166  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W 

reserved  me  for  his  son."  She  sighed  while  she  spoke, 
and  looked  down. 

This  sigh  and  gesture  had  more  effect  upon  her  victim 
than  all  her  exhibited  personal  charms.  So  difficult  is  it 
to  break  the  cords  of  affection  and  habit.  Anything 
relating  to  Pembroke  Somerset  could  yet  so  powerfully 
interest  the  desolate  yet  generous  Sobieski,  as  to  stamp 
itself  on  his  features.  Besides,  the  appearance  of  any 
latent  disquietude,  where  all  seemed  splendor  and  vivac- 
ity, painfully  reminded  him  of  the  checkered  lot  of  man. 
His  eyes  were  resting  upon  her  ladyship,  full  of  a  tender 
commiseration,  pregnant  with  compassion  for  her,  him- 
self, and  all  the  world,  when  she  raised  her  head.  The 
meeting  of  such  a  look  from  him  filled  her  with  agitation. 
She  felt  something  strange  at  her  heart.  His  eyes  seemed 
to  have  penetrated  to  its  inmost  devices.  Blushing  like 
scarlet,  she  got  up  to  hide  an  embarrassment  not  to  be 
subdued;  and  hastily  wishing  the  countess  a  good-morn- 
ing courtesied  to  him  and  left  the  room. 

Her  ladyship  entered  her  carriage  with  feelings  all  in 
commotion.  She  could  not  account  for  the  confusion 
which  his  look  had  occasioned ;  and  half-angry  at  a  weak- 
ness so  like  a  raw,  inexperienced  girl,  she  determined  to 
become  one  of  Lady  Tinemouth's  constant  visitors,  until 
she  should  have  brought  him  (as  she  had  done  most  of  the 
men  in  her  circle)  to  her  feet. 

These  were  her  ladyship's  resolutions,  while  she  rolled 
along  toward  St.  James'  Place.  But  she  a  little  exceeded 
the  fact  in  the  statement  of  her  conquests;  for  notwith- 
standing she  could  have  counted  as  many  lovers  as  most 
women,  yet  few  of  them  would  have  ventured  the  folly  of 
a  kneeling  petition.  In  spite  of  her  former  unwedded 
charms,  these  worthy  lords  and  gentlemen  had,  to  a 
man,  adopted  the  oracle  of  the  poet: 

Love,  free  as  air,  at  sight  of  human  ties, 
Spreads  his  light  wings,  and  in  a  moment  flies." 

They  all  professed  to  adore  Lady  Sara;  some  were  caught 
by  her  beauty,  others  by  her  eclat,  but  none  had  the  most 
distant  wish  to  make  this  beauty  and  eclat  his  own  legal 
property.     For  she  had  no  other  property  to  bestow. 

The  young  Marquis  of  Severn  seemed  serious  toward 
her  ladyship  during  the  first  year  of  his  appearance  at 


THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  167 

court;  but  at  the  end  of  that  time,  instead  of  offering  her 
his  hand,  he  married  the  daughter  of  a  rich  banker. 

Lady  Sara  was  so  incensed  at  this  disappointment  that, 
to  show  her  disdain  of  her  apostate  lover,  she  set  off  next 
day  for  Gretna  Green,  with  Horace  Ross,  a  young  and 
early  celebrated  commander  in  the  navy,  whose  honest 
heart  had  been  some  time  suing  to  her  in  vain.  He  was 
also  nephew  to  the  Earl  of  Wintown.  They  were  married, 
and  her  ladyship  had  the  triumph  of  being  presented  as  a 
bride  the  same  day  with  the  Marchioness  of  Severn. 

When  the  whirlwind  of  her  resentment  subsided,  she 
began  most  dismally  to  repent  her  union.  She  loved 
Captain  Ross  as  little  as  she  had  loved  Lord  Severn.  She 
had  admired  the  rank  and  fashion  of  the  one,  and  the 
profound  adoration  of  the  other  had  made  a  friend  of  her 
vanity.  But  now  that  her  revenge  was  gratified,  and  the 
homage  of  a  husband  ceased  to  excite  the  envy  of  her 
companions,  she  grew  weary  of  his  attentions,  and  was 
rejoiced  when  the  Admiralty  ordered  him  to  take  the 
command  of  a  frigate  bound  to  the  Mediterranean. 

The  last  fervent  kiss  which  he  imprinted  on  her  lips,  as 
she  breathed  out  the  cold  "Good-by,  Ross;  take  care  of 
yourself!"  seemed  to  her  the  seal  of  freedom;  and  she 
returned  into  her  dressing-room,  not  to  weep,  but  to  exult 
in  the  prospect  of  a  thousand  festivities  and  a  thousand 
captives  at  her  feet. 

Left  at  an  early  age  without  a  mother,  and  ignorant  of 
the  duties  of  a  wife,  she  thought  that  if  she  kept  her 
husband  and  herself  out  of  Doctor's  Commons,  she  should 
do  no  harm  by  amusing  herself  with  the  heart  of  every 
man  who  came  in  her  way.  Thus  she  hardly  moved  with- 
out a  train  of  admirers.  She  had  already  attracted  every 
one  she  deemed  worthy  of  the  trouble,  and  listened  to 
their  compliments,  and  insolent  presumptions,  until  she 
Avas  wearied  of  both.  In  this  juncture  of  ennui,  Miss 
Egerton  related  to  her  the  countess'  rencounter  with  the 
gallant  foreigner. 

As  soon  as  she  heard  he  was  of  rank  (for  Miss  Egerton 
was  not  backward  to  affirm  the  dreams  of  her  own  imag- 
ination), she  formed  a  wish  to  see  him;  and  when,  to  her 
infinite  satisfaction,  he  did  present  himself,  in  her  eyes 
he  exceeded  everything  that  had  been  described.  To 
secure  such  a  conquest,  she  thought,  would  not  only  raise 


108  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

the  envy  of  the  women,  but  put  the  men  on  the  alert  to 
discover  some  novel  and  attractive  way  of  proving  their 
devotion. 

While  Lady  Sara  was  meditating  on  her  new  conquest, 
the  count  and  Lady  Tinemouth  remained  in  their  tete-a- 
tete.  Her  ladyship  talked  to  him  on  various  subjects; 
but  he  answered  ill  upon  them  all,  and  sometimes  very 
wide  of  the  matter.  At  last,  conscious  that  he  must  be 
burdensome,  he  arose,  and,  looking  paler  and  more  de- 
pressed than  when  he  entered,  wished  her  a  good-morning. 

"I  am  afraid,  Mr.  Constantine,  you  are  unwell." 

Like  most  people  who  desire  to  hide  what  is  passing  in 
their  minds,  Thaddeus  gladly  assented  to  this,  as  an 
excuse  for  a  taciturnity  he  could  not  overcome. 

"Then,"  cried  her  ladyship,  "I  hope  you  will  let  me 
know  where  to  send  to  inquire  after  your  health." 

Thaddeus  was  confounded  for  a  moment;  then,  return- 
ing into  the  room,  he  took  up  a  pen,  which  lay  on  the 
table,  and  said: 

"I  will  write  my  address  to  a  place  where  any  of  your 
ladsyhip's  commands  may  reach  me;  but  I  will  do  myself 
the  honor  to  repeat  my  call  very  soon." 

"I  shall  always  be  happy  to  see  you,"  replied  the  count- 
ess, while  he  was  writing;  "but  before  I  engage  you  in  a 
promise  of  which  you  may  afterward  repent,  I  must  tell 
you  that  you  will  meet  with  dull  entertainment  at  my 
house.  I  see  very  little  company;  and  were  it  not  for  the 
inexhaustible  spirits  of  Miss  Egerton,  I  believe  I  should 
become  a  complete  misanthrope." 

"Your  house  will  be  my  paradise!"  exclaimed  the 
count,  with  an  expressiveness  to  the  force  of  which  he  did 
not  immediately  attend. 

Lady  Tinemouth  smiled. 

"I  must  warn  you  here,  too,"  cried  she.  "Miss  Eger- 
ton must  not  be  the  deity  of  your  paradise.     She  is  already 


}> 


under  engagements. 

Thaddeus  blushed  at  being  mistaken,  and  wished  to 
explain  himself. 

"You  misunderstand  me,  madam.  I  am  not  insensible 
to  beauty;  but  upon  my  word,  at  that  moment  I  had 
nothing  else  in  my  thoughts  than  gratitude  for  your  lady- 
ship's kindness  to  an  absolute  stranger." 

"That  is  true,    Mr.   Constantine:  you  are  an  absolute 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  169 

stranger,  if  the  want  of  a  formal  introduction  and  an 
ignorance  of  your  family  constitute  that  title.  But  your 
protection  introduced  you  to  me;  and  there  is  something 
in  your  appearance  which  convinces  me  that  I  need  not 
be  afraid  of  admitting  you  into  the  very  scanty  number 
of  my  friends." 

Thaddeus  perceived  the  delicacy  of  Lady  Tinemouth, 
who  wished  to  know  who  he  was,  and  yet  was  unwilling 
to  give  him  pain  by  a  question  so  direct  that  he  must 
answer  it.  As  she  now  proposed  it,  she  left  him  entirely 
to  his  own  discretion;  and  he  determined  to  satisfy  her 
very  proper  curiosity,  as  far  as  he  could  without  exposing 
his  real  name  and  circumstances. 

The  countess,  whose  benevolent  heart  was  deeply  inter- 
ested in  his  favor,  observed  the  changes  of  his  countenance 
with  an  anxious  hope  that  he  would  be  ingenuous.  Her 
solicitude  did  not  arise  from  any  doubts  of  his  quality  and 
worth,  but  she  wished  to  be  enabled  to  reply  with  prompt- 
ness to  the  inquisitive  people  who  might  see  him  at  her 
house. 

"I  hardly  know,"  said  Thaddeus,  "in  what  words  to 
express  my  sense  of  your  ladyship's  generous  confidence 
in  me,  and  that  my  character  is  not  undeserving  of  such 
distinction,  time,  I  trust,  will  prove."  He  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  then  resumed:  "For  my  rank,  Lady  Tine- 
mouth,  it  is  now  of  little  consequence  to  my  comfort; 

rather,   perhaps,   a  source  of  mortification;  for "  he 

hesitated,  and  then  proceeded,  with  a  faint  color  tingeing 
his  cheek:  "exiles  from  their  country,  if  they  would  not 
covet  misery,  must  learn  to  forget;  hence  I  am  no  other 
than  Mr.  Constantine;  though,  in  acknowledgment  of 
your  ladyship's  goodness,  I  deem  it  only  just  that  I  should 
not  conceal  my  real  quality  from  you. 

"My  family  was  one  of  the  first  in  Poland.  Even  in 
banishment,  the  remembrance  that  its  virtues  were  as 
well  known  as  its  name,  affords  some  alleviation  to  the 
conviction  that  when  my  country  fell,  all  my  property  and 
all  my  kindred  were  involved  in  the  ruin.  Soon  after  the 
dreadful  sealing  of  its  fate,  I  quitted  it,  and  by  the  com- 
mand of  a  dying  parent,  who  expired  in  my  arms,  sought 
a  refuge  in  this  island  from  degradations  which  otherwise 
I  could  neither  repel  nor  avoid." 

Tnaddeus  stopped;  and  the   countess,  struck  by  the 


170  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

graceful  modesty  with  which  this  simple  account  was 
related,  laid  her  hand  upon  his. 

"Mr.  Coustantine,  I  am  not  surprised  at  what  you  have 
said.  The  melancholy  of  your  air  induced  me  to  suspect 
that  you  were  not  happy,  and  my  sole  wish  in  penetrating 
your  reserve  was  to  show  you  that  a  woman  can  be  a  sin- 
cere friend." 

Tears  of  gratitude  glistened  in  the  count's  eyes.  In- 
capable of  making  a  suitable  reply,  he  pressed  her  hand 
to  his  lips.  She  rose;  and  willing  to  relieve  a  sensibility 
that  delighted  her,  added,  "I  will  not  detain  you  longer; 
only  let  me  see  you  soon." 

Thaddeus  uttered  a  few  inarticulate  words,  whose  sig- 
nificance conveyed  nothing,  but  all  he  felt  was  declared 
in  their  confusion.  The  countess'  eloquent  smile  showed 
that  she  comprehended  their  meaning;  and  he  left  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

woman's  kindness. 

On  the  count's  return  home,  he  found  General  Butzou 
in  better  spirits,  still  poring  over  his  journal.  This  book 
seemed  to  be  the  representative  of  all  which  had  ever 
been  dear  to  him.  He  dwelt  upon  it  and  talked  about  it 
with  a  doting  eagerness  bordering  on  insanity. 

These  symptoms,  increasing  from  day  to  day,  gave  his 
young  friend  considerable  uneasiness.  He  listened  with 
pain  to  the  fond  dreams  which  took  possession  of  the  poor 
old  man,  who  delighted  in  saying  that  much  might  yet  be 
done  in  Poland  when  he  should  be  recovered,  and  they  be 
enabled  to  return  together  to  Warsaw,  and  stimulate  the 
people  to  resume  their  rights. 

Thaddeus  at  first  attempted  to  prove  the  emptiness  of 
these  schemes;  but  seeing  that  contradiction  on  this  head 
threw  the  general  into  deeper  despondency,  he  thought  it 
better  to  affect  the  same  sentiments,  too  well  perceiving 
that  death  would  soon  terminate  these  visions  with  the 
venerable  dreamer's  life. 

Accordingly,  as  far  as  lay  in  the  count's  power,  he  satis- 
fied all  the  fancied  wants  of  his  revered  friend,  who  on 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  171 

every  other  subject  was  perfectly  reasonable;  but  at  last 
he  became  so  absorbed  in  this  chimerical  plot  that  other 
conversation,  or  his  meals,  seemed  to  oppress  him  with 
restraint. 

When  Thaddens  perceived  that  his  company  was  rather 
irksome  than  a  comfort  to  his  friend,  he  the  more  readily 
repeated  his  visits  to  Lady  Tinemouth.  She  now  looked 
for  his  appearance  at  least  once  a  clay.  If  ever  a  morning 
and  an  evening  passed  away  without  his  appearance,  he 
was  sure  of  being  scolded  by  Miss  Egerton,  reproached  by 
the  countess,  and  frowned  at  by  Lady  Sara  Koss.  In 
defiance  of  all  other  engagements,  this  lady  contrived  to 
drop  in  every  night  at  Lady  Tinemouth's.  Her  ladyship 
was  not  more  surprised  at  this  sudden  attachment  of  Lady 
Sara  to  her  house  than  pleased  with  her  society.  She 
found  she  could  lay  aside  in  her  little  circle  that  tissue  of 
affectation  and  fashion  which  she  wore  in  public,  and 
really  became  a  charming  woman. 

Though  Lady  Sara  was  vain,  she  was  mistress  of  suffi- 
cient sense  to  penetrate  with  tolerable  certainty  into  the 
characters  of  her  acquaintance.  Most  of  the  young  men 
with  whom  she  had  hitherto  associated  having  lived  from 
youth  to  manhood  among  those  fashionable  assemblies 
where  individuality  is  absorbed  in  the  general  mass  of 
insipidity,  she  saw  they  were  frivolous,  though  obsequious 
to  her,  or,  at  the  best,  warped  in  taste,  if  not  in  principles; 
and  the  fascinations  she  called  forth  to  subdue  them  were 
suited  to  their  objects — her  beauty,  her  thoughtlessness, 
or  her  caprice.  But,  on  the  reverse,  when  she  formed  the 
wish  to  entangle  such  a  man  as  Thaddens,  she  soon  dis- 
covered that  to  engage  his  attention  she  must  appear  in 
the  unaffected  graces  of  nature.  To  this  end  she  took 
pains  to  display  the  loveliness  of  her  form  in  every  move- 
ment and  position;  yet  she  managed  the  action  with  so 
inartificial  and  frank  an  air,  that  she  seemed  the  only 
person  present  who  was  unconscious  of  the  versatility  and 
power  of  her  charms.  She. conversed  with  good  sense  and 
propriety.  In  short,  she  appeared  completely  different 
from  the  gay,  ridiculous  creature  he  had  seen  some  weeks 
before  in  the  countess'  drawing-room. 

He  now  admired  both  her  person  and  her  mind.  Her 
winning  softness,  the  vivacity  of  Miss  Egerton,  and  the 
kiudness  of  the  countess,  beguiled  him  many  an  evening 


172  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W 

from  the  contemplation  of  melancholy  scenes  at  his  hum- 
ble and  anxious  home. 

One  night  it  came  into  the  head  of  Sophia  Egerton  to 
banter  him  about  his  military  dress.  "Do,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  my  dear  Don  Quixote,"  cried  she,  "let  us  see  you 
out  of  your  rusty  armor !  I  declare  I  grow  frightened  at 
it.  And  I  cannot  but  think  you  wonld  be  merrier  out  of 
that  customary  suit  of  solemn  black!" 

This  demand  was  not  pleasing  to  Thaddeus,  but  he 
good-humoredly  replied,  "I  knew  not  till  you  were  so 
kind  as  to  inform  me  that  a  man's  temper  depends  on  his 
clothes." 

"Else,  I  suppose,"  cried  she,  interrupting  him,  "you 
would  have  changed  yours  before?  Therfore,  I  expect 
you  will  do  as  I  bid  you  now,  and  put  on  a  Christian's 
coat  against  you  next  enter  this  house." 

Thaddeus  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say;  he  only  bowed; 
and  the  countess  and  Lady  Sara  smiled  at  her  nonsense. 

When  they  parted  for  the  night,  this  part  of  the  con- 
versation passed  off  from  all  minds  but  that  of  Lady 
Tinemouth.  She  had  considered  the  subject,  but  in  a 
different  way  from  her  gay  companion.  Sophia  supposed 
that  the  handsome  Constantine  wore  the  dress  of  his 
country  because  it  was  the  most  becoming.  But  as  such 
a  whim  did  not  correspond  with  the  other  parts  of  his 
character,  Lady  Tinemouth,  in  her  own  mind,  attributed 
this  adherence  to  his  national  habit  to  the  right  cause. 

She  remarked  that  whenever  she  wished  him  to  meet 
any  agreeable  people  at  her  house,  he  always  declined 
these  introductions  under  the  plea  of  his  dress,  though  he 
never  proposed  to  alter  it.  This  conduct,  added  to  his 
silence  on  every  subject  which  related  to  the  public 
amusements  about  town,  led  her  to  conclude  that,  like 
the  banished  nobility  of  France,  he  was  encountering  the 
various  inconveniences  of  poverty  in  a  foreign  land.  She 
hoped  that  he  had  escaped  its  horrors;  but  she  could  not 
be  certain,  for  he  always  shifted  the  conversation  when  it 
too  closely  referred  to  himself. 

These  observations  haunted  the  mind  of  Lady  Tine- 
mouth, and  made  her  anxious  to  contrive  some  opportu- 
nity in  which  she  might  have  this  interesting  Constantine 
alone,  and  by  a  proper  management  of  the  discourse,  lead 
to  some  avowal  of  his  real  situation.     Hitherto  her  benev- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  173 

olent  intentions  had  been  frustrated  by  various  interrup- 
tions at  various  times.  Indeed,  had  she  been  actuated  by 
mere  curiosity,  she  would  long  ago  have  resigned  the 
attempt  as  fruitless;  but  pity  and  esteem  kept  her  watch- 
ful until  the  very  hour  in  which  her  considerate  heart  was 
fully  satisfied. 

One  morning,  when  she  was  writing  in  her  cabinet,  a 
servant  informed  her  that  Mr.  Constantine  was  below. 
Pleased  at  this  circumstance,  she  took  advantage  of  a 
slight  cold  that  affected  her;  and  hoping  to  draw  some- 
thing out  of  him  in  the  course  of  a  tete-a-tete^  begged  he 
would  favor  her  by  coming  into  her  private  room. 

When  he  entered,  she  perceived  that  he  looked  more 
pensive  than  usual.  He  sat  down  by  her,  and  expressed 
his  concern  at  her  indisposition.  She  sighed  heavily,  but 
remained  silent.  Her  thoughts  were  too  much  occupied 
with  her  kind  plan  to  immediately  form  a  reply.  She 
had  determined  to  give  him  a  cursory  idea  of  her  own 
unhappiness,  and  thus,  by  her  confidence,  attract  him. 

"I  hope  Miss  Egerton  is  well?"  inquired  he. 

''Very  well,  Mr.  Constantine.  A  heart  at  ease  almost 
ever  keeps  the  body  in  health.  May  she  long  continue  as 
happy  as  at  this  period,  and  never  know  the  disappoint- 
ments of  her  friend !" 

He  looked  at  the  countess. 

"It  is  true,  my  dear  sir,"  continued  she.  "It  is  hardly 
probable  that  the  mere  effect  of  thirty-seven  years  could 
have  made  the  inroads  on  my  person  which  you  see:  but 
sorrow  has  done  it;  and  with  all  the  comforts  you  behold 
around  me,  I  am  miserable.  I  have  no  joy  independent 
of  the  few  friends  which  Heaven  has  preserved  to  me; 
and  yet,"  added  she,  "I  have  another  anxiety  united  with 
those  of  which  I  complain;  some  of  my  friends,  who 
afford  me  the  consolation  I  mention,  deny  me  the  only 
return  in  my  power,  the  office  of  sharing  their  griefs." 

Thaddeus  understood  the  expression  of  her  ladyship's 
eye  and  the  tenderness  of  her  voice  as  she  utttered  these 
words.  He  saw  to  whom  the  kind  reproach  was  directed, 
and  he  looked  down  confused  and  oppressed. 

The  countess  resumed: 

"I  cannot  deny  what  your  countenance  declares;  you 
think  I  mean  you.  I  do,  Mr.  Constantine.  I  have 
marked  your  melancholy  \  I  have  weighed  other  circum- 


174  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

stances;  and  1  am  sure  that  you  have  many  things  to 
struggle  with  besides  the  regrets  which  must  ever  hang 
about  the  bosom  of  a  brave  man  who  has  witnessed  the 
destruction  of  his  country.  Forgive  me,  if  I  give  you 
pain,"  added  she,  observing  his  heightening  color.  "I 
speak  from  real  esteem;  I  speak  to  you  as  I  would  to  my 
own  son  were  he  in  your  situation." 

"My  dearest  madam!"  cried  Thaddeus,  overcome  by 
her  benevolence,  "you  have  judged  rightly;  I  have  many 
things  to  struggle  with.  I  have  a  sick  friend  at  home, 
whom  misfortune  hath  nearly  bereft  of  reason,  and  whose 
wants  are  now  so  complicated  and  expensive  that  never 
till  now  did  I  know  the  complete  desolation  of  a  man 
without  a  country  or  a  profession.  For  myself,  Lady 
Tinemouth,  adversity  has  few  pangs;  but  for  my  friend, 
for  an  old  man  whose  deranged  faculties  have  forgotten 
the  change  in  my  affairs,  he  who  leans  on  me  for  support 
and  comfort — it  is  this  that  must  account  to  your  ladyship 
for  those  inconsistencies  in  my  manner  and  spirits  which 
are  so  frequently  the  subject  of  Miss  Egerton's  raillery." 

Thaddeus,  in  the  course  of  his  short  and  rapid  narra- 
tive, gradually  lowered  the  tone  of  his  voice,  and  at  the 
close  covered  his  face  with  this  hand.  He  had  never 
before  confided  the  history  of  his  embarrassments  to  any 
creature;  and  he  thought  (notwithstanding  the  countess' 
solicitations)  he  had  committed  an  outrage  on  the  firm- 
ness of  his  character  by  having  in  any  way  acknowledged 
the  weight  of  his  calamities. 

Lady  Tinemouth  considered  a  few  minutes,  and  then 
addressed  him. 

"I  should  ill  repay  this  generous  confidence,  my  noble 
young  friend,  were  I  to  hesitate  a  moment  in  forming 
some  plan  which  may  prove  of  service  to  you.  You 
iiave  told  me  no  more,  Mr.  Constantine,  than  I  suspected. 
And  I  had  something  in  view."  Here  the  countess 
stopped,  expecting  that  her  auditor  would  interrupt  her. 
He  remained  silent,  and  she  proceeded:  "You  spoke  of 
a  profession,  of  an  employment." 

"Yes,  madam,"  returned  he,  taking  his  hands  from  his 
eyes;  "I  should  be  glad  to  engage  in  any  profession  or 
employment  you  would  recommend." 

"I  have  little  interest,"  answered  her  ladyship,  "with 
people  in   power;  therefore   I   cannot  propose  anything 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  175 

which  will  in  any  degree  suit  with  your  rank;  but  the 
employment  that  I  have  in  view,  several  of  the  most  illus- 
trious French  nobility  have  not  disdained  to  execute." 

"Do  not  fear  to  mention  it  to  me,"  cried  the  count, 
perceiving  her  reluctance;  "I  would  attempt  anything 
that  is  not  dishonorable,  to  render  service  to  my  poor 
friend." 

"Well,  then,  would  you  have  any  objection  to  teach 
languages?" 

Thaddeus  immediately  answered,  "Oh,  no!  I  should 
be  happy  to  do  so." 

"Then,"  replied  she,  greatly  relieved  by  the  manner  in 
which  he  received  her  proposal,  "I  will  now  tell  yon  that 
about  a  week  ago  I  paid  a  visit  to  Lady  Dundas,  the 
widow  of  Sir  Hector  Dundas,  the  rich  East  Indian  direct- 
or. While  I  was  there,  I  heard  her  talking  with  her  two 
daughters  about  rinding  a  proper  master  to  teach*  them 
German.  That  language  has  become  a  very  fashionable 
accomplishment  among  literary  ladies;  and  Miss  Dundas, 
being  a  member  of  the  Blue-stocking  Club,*  had  declared 
her  resolution  to  make  a  new  translation  of  Werter. 
Lady  Dundas  expressed  many  objections  against  the 
vulgarity  of  various  teachers  whom  the  young  ladies  pro- 
posed, and  ended  with  saying  that  unless  some  German 
gentleman  could  be  found,  they  must  remain  ignorant  of 
the  language.  Your  image  instantly  shot  across  my 
mind;  and  deeming  it  a  favorable  opportunity,  I  told  her 
ladyship  that  if  she  could  wait  a  few  days,  I  would  sound 
a  friend  of  mine,  who  I  knew,  if  he  would  condescend  to 
take  the  trouble,  must  be  the  most  eligible  person  imag- 
inable. Lady  Dundas  and  the  girls  gladly  left  the  affair 
to  me,  and  I  now  propose  it  to  you." 

"And  I,"  replied  he,  "with  a  thousand  thanks,  accept 
the  task." 

"Then  I  will  make  the  usual  arrangements,"  returned 
her  ladyship,  "and  send  you  the  result." 

After  half  an  hour's  further  conversation,  Lady  Tine- 
mouth  became  more  impressed  with  the  unsophisticated 
delicacy  and  dignity  of  the  count's  mind;  and  he,  more 
grateful  than  utterance  could  declare,  left  his  respects 
for  Miss  Egerton,  and  took  his  leave. 

*■■.  —  ■  -  ..... ■  ■■  .i  —  ■   ■  — 

*  Such  was  the  real  name  given  at  the  time  to  Mrs.  Montague's 
celehrated  literary  parties,  held  at  her  house  in  Portuiau  Square. 
The  late  venerable  Sir  William  Pepys  was  ope  of  their  last  survivor* 


176  TEADDEU8  OF  WARSAW. 

CHAPTER  XXI. 

FASHIONABLE    SKETCHES   FROM  THE   LIFE. 

Next  morning,  while  Thaddens  was  vainly  explaining 
to  the  general  that  he  no  longer  possessed  a  regiment  of 
horse,  which  the  poor  old  man  wanted  him  to  order  out, 
to  try  the  success  of  some  maneuvers  he  had  been  devis- 
ing, little  Nanny  brought  in  a  letter  from  Slaughter's 
Coffee-house,  where  he  had  noted  Lady  Tinemouth  to 
direct  it  to  him.*  He  opened  it,  and  found  these  con- 
tents : 

"My  Dear  Sir:  So  anxious  was  I  to  terminate  the 
affair '  with  Lady  Dundas,  that  I  went  to  her  house  last 
night.  I  affirmed  it  as  a  great  obligation  that  you  would 
undertake  the  trouble  to  teach  her  daughters;  and  I  insist 
that  you  do  not,  from  any  romantic  ideas  of  candor, 
invalidate  what  I  have  said.  I  know  the  world  too  well 
not  to  be  convinced  of  the  truth  of  Dr.  Goldsmith's 
maxim,  'If  you  be  poor,  do  not  seem  poor,  if  you  would 
avoid  insult  as  well  as  suffering.' 

"I  told  Miss  Dundas  that  yon  had  undertaken  the  task 
solely  at  my  persuasion,  and  that  I  could  not  propose 
other  terms  than  a  guinea  for  two  lessons.  She  is  rich 
enough  for  any  expense,  and  made  no  objection  to  my 
demand;  besides,  she  presented  the  inclosed  by  way  of 
entrance-money.  It  is  customary.  Thus  I  have  settled 
all  preliminaries,  and  you  are  to  commence  your  first 
lesson  on  Monday,  at  two  o'clock.  But  before  then,  pray 
let  me  see  you. 

"Cannot  yon  dine  with  us  on  Sunday?  A  sabbath 
privilege!  to  speak  of  good  is  blameless.  I  have  informed 
Miss  Egerton  of  as  much  of  the  affair  as  I  think  necessary 
to  account  for  your  new  occupation.  In  short,  gay  in 
spirits  as  she  is,  I  thought  it  most  prudent  to  say  as  little 
to  her  and  to  Lady  Sara  as  I  have  done  to  the  Dundases; 
therefore,  do  not  be  uneasy  on  that  head. 

*Tbis  respectable  liotel  still  exists,  near  the  top  of  St.  Martin's 
Lane.     (1845.) 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  177 

"Come  to-morrow,  if  not  before,  arid  you  will  give  real 
pleasure  to  your  sincere  friend, 

"Adeliza  Tinemouth. 
"Satukday  Morning,  Grosvenor  Place." 

Truly  grateful  to  the  active  friendship  of  the  countess, 
and  looking  at  the  general,  who  appeared  perfectly  happy 
in  the  prosecution  of  his  wild  schemes,  Thaddeus  inwardly 
exclaimed,  "By  these  means  I  shall  at  least  have  it  in  my 
power  to  procure  the  assistance  which  your  melancholy 
state,  my  revered  friend,  requires." 

On  opening  the  inclosed,  which  her  ladyship  men- 
tioned, he  found  it  to  be  a  bank-note  for  ten  pounds. 
Both  the  present  and  its  amount  gave  him  pain;  not  hav- 
ing done  any  service  yet  to  the  donor,  he  regarded  the 
money  more  as  a  gift  than  as  a  bond  of  engagement. 
However,  he  found  that  this  delicacy,  with  many  other 
painful  repugnances,  must  at  this  moment  be  laid  aside; 
and  without  further  self-torment  he  consigned  the  money 
to  the  use  for  which  he  felt  aware  the  countess  had 
wished  it  to  be  applied,  namely,  to  provide  himself  with 
an  English  dress. 

During  these  various  reflections,  he  did  not  leave  Lady 
Tinemouth's  letter  unanswered.  He  thanked  her  sin- 
cerely for  her  zeal,  but  declined  dining  with  her  the  next 
day  on  account  of  leaving  his  poor  friend  so  long  alone; 
though  he  promised  to  come  in  the  evening  when  he 
should  be  retired  to  rest. 

This  excuse  was  regretted  by  none  more  than  Lady  Sara 
Boss,  who,  having  heard  from  Lady  Tinemouth  that  she 
expected  Mr.  Constantine  to  dinner  on  a  Sunday,  invited 
herself  to  be  one  of  the  party.  She  had  now  seen  him 
constantly  for  nearly  a  month,  and  found,  to  her  amaze- 
ment, that  in  seeking  to  beguile  him,  she  had  only 
ensnared  herself.  Every  word  he  uttered  penetrated  to 
her  heart;  every  glance  of  his  eyes  shook  her  frame  like 
electricity. 

She  had  now  no  necessity  to  affect  softness.  A  young 
and  unsuspected  passion  had  stolen  into  her  bosom,  and 
imparted  to  her  voice  and  countenance  all  its  subtle 
power  to  enchant  and  to  subdue.  Thaddeus  was  not  insen- 
sible to  this  gentle  fascination;  for  it  appeared  to  his 
ingenuous  nature  to  be  unconsciously  shown,  and  from 


178  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

under  "veiled  lids."  He  looked  on  her  as  indeed  a  lovely 
woman,  who,  with  a  touching  delicacy,  he  observed,  often 
tried  to  stifle  sigh  after  sigh,  which,  fluttering,  rose  to 
her  silent  lips.  Thus,  as  silently  remarking  her,  he 
became  deeply  interested  in  her;  for  he  believed  her 
yearning  heart  then  thought  of  her  gallant  husband,  far, 
far  at  sea.  So  had  been  his  conclusion  when  he  first 
noticed  these  demonstrations  of  an  inward  unnttered  sen- 
sibility. But  in  a  little  while  afterward,  when  those 
veiled  lids  were  occasionally  raised,  and  met  his  compas- 
sionate gaze,  she  mistook  the  nature  of  its  expression ;  and 
her  responsive  glance,  wild  with  ecstasy,  returned  him 
one  that  darted  astonishment,  with  an  appalling  dread  of 
his  meaning,  through  his  every  vein.  But  on  his  pillow 
the  same  night,  when  he  reflected  on  what  he  had  felt  on 
receiving  so  strange  a  look  from  a  married  woman,  and 
one,  too,  whom  he  believed  to  be  a  virtuous  one,  he  could 
not,  he  would  not,  suppose  it  meant  anything  to  him; 
and  ashamed  of  even  the  idea  having  entered  his  head,  he 
crushed  it  at  once,  indignant  at  himself.  Though,  when- 
ever he  subsequently  met  her  at  Lady  Tinemonth's,  he 
could  not  help,  as  if  by  a  natural  impulse,  avoiding  the 
encountering  of  her  eyes. 

In  the  course  of  conversation  at  dinner,  on  the  day 
Thadcleus  had  been  expected  by  Lady  Tinemouth,  in  a 
tone  of  pleasure  she  mentioned  that  she  had  conferred  a 
great  favor  on  her  young  cousins,  the  Misses  Dundas,  by 
having  prevailed  on  Mr.  Constantine  to  undertake  the 
trouble  of  teaching  them  German.  Lady  Sara  could  not 
conceal  her  vexation,  nor  her  wonder  at  Lady  Tine- 
mouth's  thinking  of  such  a  thing;  and  she  uttered  some- 
thing like  angry  contempt  at  acquiescence,  while  inwardly 
she  hated  her  former  old  friend  for  having  made  the 
proposal. 

Miss  Egerton  laughed  at  the  scrape  into  which  Lady 
Tinemouth  had  brought  his  good  nature,  and  declared  she 
would  tell  him  next  time  she  saw  him  what  a  mulish  pair 
of  misses  he  had  presumed  to  manage. 

It  was  the  youngest  of  these  misses  that  excited  Lady 
Sara's  displeasure.  Euphemia  Dundas  was  very  pretty; 
she  had  a  large  fortune  at  her  disposal ;  and  what  might 
not  such  united  temptations  effect  on  the  mind  of  a  man 
exposed  every  day  to  her  habitual  flirtation?     Stung  with 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  1?9 

jealously,  Lady  Sara  caught  at  a  slight  intimation  of  his 
possibly  coming  in  before  the  evening  should  close. 
Rallying  her  smiles,  she  resolved  to  make  one  more  essay 
on  his  relapsed  insensibility,  before  she  beheld  him  enter 
scenes  so  likely  to  extinguish  her  hopes.  Hopes  of  what? 
She  never  allowed  herself  to  inquire.  She  knew  that  she 
never  had  loved  her  husband,  that  now  she  detested  him, 
and  was  devoted  to  another.  To  be  assured  of  a  reciprocal 
passion  from  that  other,  she  believed  was  the  extent  of 
her  wish.  Thinking  that  she  held  her  husband's  honor 
safe  as  her  life,  she  determined  to  do  what  she  pleased 
with  her  heart.  Her  former  admirers  were  now  neglected; 
and,  to  the  astonishment  and  admiration  of  the  graver 
part  of  her  acquaintance,  she  had  lately  relinquished  all 
the  assemblies  in  which  she  had  so  recently  been  the 
brightest  attraction,  to  seclude  herself  by  the  domestic 
fireside  of  the  Countess  of  Tinemouth. 

Thus,  while  the  world  were  admiring  a  conduct  they 
supposed  would  give  a  lasting  happiness  to  herself  and  to 
her  husband,  she  was  cherishing  a  passion  which  might 
prove  the  destruction  of  both. 

On  Sunday  evening,  Thaddeus  entered  Lady  Tine- 
mouth's  drawing-room  just  as  Miss  Egerton  seated  herself 
before  the  tea  equipage.  At  sight  of  him  she  nodded  her 
head,  and  called  him  to  sit  by  her.  Lady  Tinemouth 
returned  the  grateful  pressure  of  his  hand.  Lady  Sara 
received  him  with  a  palpitating  heart,  and  stooped  to 
remove  something  that  seemed  to  incommode  her  foot; 
but  it  was  only  a  feint,  to  hide  the  blushes  which  were 
burning  on  her  cheek.  No  one  observed  her  confusion. 
So  common  is  it  for  those  who  are  the  constant  witnesses 
of  our  actions  to  be  the  most  ignorant  of  their  expression 
and  tendency. 

Thaddeus  could  not,  in  spite  of  himself,  be  so  unin- 
formed, and  he  gladly  obeyed  a  second  summons  from  the 
gay  Sophia,  and  drew  his  chair  close  to  hers. 

Lady  Sara  observed  his  motions  with  a  pang  she  could 
not  conceal;  and  pulling  her  seat  as  far  from  the  opposite 
side  as  possible,  began  in  silence  to  sip  her  tea. 

"Ye  powers  of  gallantry!"  suddenly  exclaimed  Miss 
Egerton,  pushing  away  the  table,  and  lifting  her  eye-glass 
to  her  eye,  "I  declare  I  have  conquered!  Look,  Lady 
Tinemouth,  look,  Lady  Sara!     If  Mr.  Constantine  does 


180  THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W. 

not   better  become   this   English   dress   than  his  Polish 
horribles  did  him,  drown  me  for  a  witch!" 

"Yon  see  I  have  obeyed  you,  madam,"  returned  Thad- 
deus,  smiling. 

"Ah!  you  are  in  the  right.  Most  men  do  that  cheer- 
fully, when  they  know  they  gain  by  the  bargain.  Now 
you  look  like  a  Christian  man;  before,  you  always  re- 
minded me  of  some  stalking  hero  in  a  tragedy." 

"Yes,"  cried  Lady  Sara,  forcing  a  smile;  "and  now 
you  have  given  him  a  striking  resemblance  to  George 
Barnwell!" 

Sophia,  who  did  not  perceive  the  sarcasm  couched 
under  this  remark,  good-humoredly  replied: 

"Maybe  so,  Lady  Sara;  but  I  don't  care  for  his  black 
suit;  obedience  was  the  thing  I  wanted,  and  I  have  it  in 
the  present  appearance." 

"Pray,  Lady  Tinemouth,"  asked  her  ladyship,  seeking 
to  revenge  herself  on  his  alacrity  to  obey  Miss  Egerton, 
"what  o'clock  is  it?  I  have  promised  to  be  at  Lady 
Sarum's  concert  by  ten." 

"It  is  not  nine,"  returned  the  countess;  "besides,  this 
is  the  first  time  I  have  heard  of  your  engagement.  I 
hoped  you  would  have  spent  all  the  evening  with  us." 

No,"  answered  Lady  Sara,  "I  cannot."     And  ringing 
the  bell,  she  rose. 

"Bless  me,  Lady  Sara!"  cried  Miss  Egerton,  "you  are 
not  going?  Don't  you  hear  that  it  is  little  more  than 
eight  o'clock?" 

Busying  herself  in  tying  her  cloak,  Lady  Sara  affected 
not  to  hear  her,  and  told  the  servant  who  opened  the  door 
to  order  her  carriage. 

Surprised  at  this  precipitation,  but  far  from  guessing 
the  cause,  Lady  Tinemouth  requested  Mr.  Constantine  to 
see  her  ladyship  downstairs. 

"I  would  rather  not,"  cried  she,  in  a  quick  voice,  and 
darting  out  of  the  room,  was  followed  by  Thaddeus,  who 
came  up  with  her  just  as  she  reached  the  street  door.  He 
hastened  to  assist  her  into  the  carriage,  and  saw  by  the 
light  of  the  flambeau  her  face  streaming  with  tears.  He 
had  already  extended  his  hand,  when,  instead  of  accept- 
ing it,  she  pushed  it  from  her,  and  jumped  into  the 
carriage,  crying  in  an  indignant  tone,  "To  Berkeley 
Square."    He  remained  for  a  few  minutes  looking  after 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  181 

her;  then  returned  into  the  house,  too  well  able  to  trans- 
late the  meaning  of  all  this  petulance. 

When  he  reascended  the  stairs,  Lady  Tinemouth  ex- 
pressed her  wonder  at  the  whimsical  departure  of  her 
friend;  but  as  Thaddeus  (who  was  really  disturbed)  re- 
turned a  vague  reply,  the  subject  ended. 

Miss  Egerton,  who  hardly  thought  two  minutes  on  the 
same  thing,  sent  away  the  tea-board,  and,  sitting  down 
by  him,  exclaimed: 

"Mr.  Constantine,  I  hold  it  right  that  no  man  should 
be  thrown  into  a  den  of  wild  creatures  without  knowing 
what  sort  of  animals  he  must  meet  there.  Hence,  as  I 
find  you  have  undertaken  the  taming  of  that  ursa  major 
Lady  Dundas,  and  her  pretty  cubs,  I  must  give  you  a 
taste  of  their  quality.     Will  you  hear  me?" 

"Certainly." 

"Will  you  attend  to  my  advice?" 

"If  I  like  it." 

"Ha!"  replied  she,  returning  his  smile  with  another; 
"that  is  just  such  an  answer  as  I  would  have  made  my- 
self, so  I  won't  quarrel  with  you.  Lady  Tinemouth,  you 
will  allow  me  to  draw  your  kinsfolks'  pictures?" 

"Yes,  Sophia,  provided  you  don't  make  them  carica- 
tures. Bemember,  your  candor  is  at  stake;  to-morrow 
Mr.  Constantine  will  judge  for  himself." 

"And  I  am  sure  he  will  agree  with  me.  Now,  Lady 
Dundas,  if  you  please !  I  know  your  ladyship  is  a  great 
stickler  for  precedence." 

Lady  Tinemouth  laughed,  and  interrupted  her: 

"I  declare,  Sophia,  you  are  a  very  daring  girl.  What 
do  you  not  risk  by  giving  way  to  this  satirical  spirit?" 

"Not  anybody's  love  that  I  value,  Lady  Tinemouth; 
you  know  that  I  never  daub  a  fair  character ;  Mr.  Con- 
stantine takes  me  on  your  credit;  and  if  you  mean  Charles 
Montresor,  he  is  as  bad  as  myself,  and  dare  not  for  his  life 
have  any  qualms." 

"Well,  well,  proceed,"  cried  her  ladyship;  "I  will  not 
interrupt  you  again." 

"Then,"  resumed  she,  "I  must  begin  with  Lady  Dun- 
das. In  proper  historical  style,  I  shall  commence  with 
her  birth,  parentage,  and  education.  For  the  first,  my 
father  remembers  her  when  she  was  demoiselle  iVhonneur 
to  Judge  Sefton's  lady  at  Surat,  and  soon  after  her  arrival 


182  TBADDEVS  OF  WAltSA  W. 

there,  this  pretty  abigail  by  some  means  captivated  old 
Hector  Dimdas  (then  governor  of  the  province),  who 
married  her.  When  she  returned  in  triumph  to  England, 
she  coaxed  her  foolish  husband  to  appropriate  some  of  his 
rupee  riches  to  the  purchase  of  a  baronetage.  I  suppose 
the  appellation  Mistress  put  her  in  mind  of  her  ci-devant 
abigailship;  and  in  a  fond  hour  he  complied,  and  she 
became  My  Lady.  That  over,  Sir  Hector  had  nothing 
more  obliging  to  do  in  this  world  but  to  clear  her  way  to 
perhaps  a  coronet.  He  was  so  good  as  to  think  so  him- 
self; and,  to  add  to  former  obligations,  had  the  civility  to 
walk  out  of  it;  for  one  night,  whether  he  had  been 
dreaming  of  his  feats  in  India,  or  of  a  review  of  his  grand 
entry  into  his  governorship  palace,  I  cannot  affirm,  but 
he  marched  out  of  his  bedroom  window  and  broke  his 
neck.  Ever  since  that  untoward  event,  Lady  Dundas  has 
exhibited  the  finest  parties  in  town.  Everybody  goes  to 
see  her,  but  whether  in  compliment  to  their  own  taste  or 
to  her  silver  muslins,  I  don't  know ;  for  there  are  half  a 
dozen  titled  ladies  of  her  acquaintance  who,  to  my  certain 
knowledge,  have  not  bought  a  ball-dress  this  twelve- 
month.    Well,  how  do  you  like  Lady  Dundas?" 

"I  do  not  like  your  sketch,"  replied  Thaddeus,  with  an 
unconscious  sigh. 

"Come,  don't  sigh  about  my  veracity,"  interrupted 
Miss  Egerton;  "I  do  assure  you  I  should  have  been  more 
correct  had  I  been  more  severe ,  for  her  Indian  ladyship 
is  as  ill-natured  as  she  is  ill-bred,  and  is  as  presumptuous 
as  ignorant;  in  short,  she  is  a  fit  mamma  for  the  delect- 
able Miss  Dundas,  whose  description  you  shall  have  in 
two  questions.  Can  you  imagine  Socrates  in  his  wife's 
petticoats?  Can  you  imagine  a  pedant,  a  scold,  and  a 
coquette  in  one  woman?  If  you  can,  you  have  a  foretaste 
of  Diana  Dundas.  She  is  large  and  ugly,  and  thinks  her- 
self delicate  and  handsome;  she  is  self-willed  and  arrogant, 
and  believes  herself  wise  and  learned ;  and,  to  sum  up  all, 
she  is  the  most  malicious  creature  breathing." 

"My  dear  Sophia,"  cried  Lady  Tinemouth,  alarmed  at 
the  effect  such  high  coloring  might  have  on  the  mind  of 
Thaddeus;  "for  Heaven's  sake  be  temperate!  I  never 
heard  you  so  unbecomingly  harsh  in  my  life." 

Miss  Egerton  peeped  archly  in  her  face. 

"Are  you  serious,  Lady  Tinemouth?     You  know  that  I 


TBADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  183 

would  not  look  unbecoming  in  your  eyes.  Besides,  she  is 
no  real  relation  of  yours.  Come,  shake  hands  with  me, 
and  I  will  be  more  merciful  to  the  gentle  Euphemia,  for  I 
intend  that  Mr.  Constantine  shall  be  her  favorite.  Won't 
you?"  cried  she,  resigning  her  ladyship's  hand.  Thad- 
deus  shook  his  head.  "I  don't  understand  your  Lord 
Burleigh  nods;  answer  me  in  words,  when  I  have  finished; 
for  I  am  sure  you  will  delight  in  the  zephyr  smiles  of  so 
sweet  a  fairy.  She  is  so  tiny  and  so  pretty  that  I  never 
see  her  without  thinking  of  some  gay  little  trinket,  all 
over  precious  stones.  Her  two  eyes  are  two  diamond 
sparks,  melted  into  luster;  and  her  teeth,  seed  pearl, 
lying  between  rubies.  So  much  for  the  casket;  but  for 
the  quality  of  the  jewel  within,  I  leave  you  to  make  the 
discovery. ' ' 

Miss  Egerton,  having  run  herself  out  of  breath,  suddenly 
stopped.  Seeing  that  he  was  called  upon  to  say  some- 
thing, Thaddeus  made  an  answer  which  only  drew  upon 
him  a  new  volley  of  raillery.  Lady  Tinemouth  tried  to 
avert  it,  but  she  failed;  and  Sophia  continued  talking 
with  little  interruption  until  the  party  separated  for  the 
night. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

HONORABLE   RESOURCES  OF  AN   EXILE. 

Now  that  the  count  thought  himself  secure  of  the 
means  of  payment,  he  sent  for  a  physician,  to  consult  him 
respecting  the  state  of  the  general.  When  Dr.  Cavendish 
saw  and  conversed  with  the  venerable  Butzou,  he  gave  it 
as  his  opinion  that  his  malady  was  chiefly  on  the  nerves, 
and  had  originated  in  grief. 

"I  can  too  well  suppose  it,"  replied  Thaddeus. 

"Then,"  rejoined  the  physician,  "I  fear,  sir,  that  un- 
less I  know  something  of  its  cause,  my  visits  will  prove 
almost  useless." 

The  count  was  silent.     The  doctor  resumed : 

"I  shall  be  grieved  if  his  sorrows  be  of  too  delicate  a 
nature  to  be  trusted  with  a  man  of  honor;  for  in  these 
cases,  unless  we  have  some  knowledge  of  the  springs  of 
the  derangement,  we  lose  time,  and  perhaps  entirely  fail 


184  TBADDEV8  OF  WARSAW. 

of  a  cure.     Our  discipline  is  addressed  both  to  the  body 
and  the  mind  of  the  patient." 

Thaddeus  perceived  the  necessity  of  compliance,  and 
did  so  without  further  hesitation. 

"The  calamities,  sir,  which  have  occasioned  the  dis- 
order of  my  friend  need  not  be  a  secret:  too  many  have 
shared  them  with  him;  his  sorrows  have  been  public 
ones.  You  must  have  learned  by  his  language,  Dr.  Cav- 
endish, that  he  is  a  foreigner  and  a  soldier.  He  held  the 
rank  of  general  in  the  King  of  Poland's  service.  Since 
the  period  in  which  his  country  fell,  his  wandering  senses 
have  approximated  to  what  you  see." 

Dr.  Cavendish  paused  for  a  moment  before  he  answered 
the  count;  then  fixing  his  eyes  on  the  veteran,  who  was 
sitting  at  the  other  end  of  the  room,  constructing  the 
model  of  a  fortified  town,  he  said : 

"All  that  we  can  do  at  present,  sir,  is  to  permit  him  to 
follow  his  schemes  without  contradiction,  meanwhile 
strengthening  his  system  with  proper  medicines,  and 
lulling  its  irritation  by  gentle  opiates.  We  must  proceed 
cautiously,  and  I  trust  in  Heaven  that  success  will  crown 
us  at  last.  I  will  order  something  to  be  taken  every 
night." 

When  the  doctor  had  written  his  prescription,  and  was 
preparing  to  go,  Thaddeus  offered  him  his  fee;  but  the 
good  Cavendish,  taking  the  hand  that  presented  it,  and 
closing  it  on  the  guinea,  "No,  my  dear  sir,"  said  he; 
"real  patriotism  is  too  much  the  idol  of  my  heart  to  allow 
me  to  receive  payment  when  I  behold  her  face.  Suffer 
me,  Mr.  Constantine,  to  visit  you  and  your  brave  com- 
panion as  a  friend,  or, I  never  come  again." 

"Sir,  this  generous  conduct  to  strangers " 

"Generous  to  myself,  Mr.  Constantine,  and  not  to 
strangers;  I  cannot  consider  you  as  such,  for  men  who 
devote  themselves  to  their  country  must  find  a  brother  in 
every  honest  breast.  I  will  not  hear  of  our  meeting  on 
any  other  terms."  * 

Thaddeus  could  not  immediately  form  a  reply  adequate 

*  This  generous  man  is  no  fictitious  character,  the  original  being 
Dr.  Blackburne,  late  of  Cavendish  Square;  but  who,  since  the  above 
was  written,  has  long  retired  from  his  profession,  passing  a  revered 
old  age  in  the  beautiful  neighborhood  of  our  old  British  classic 
gcenes,  the  Abbey  of  Glastonbury. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  185 

to  the  sentiment  which  the  generous  philanthropy  of  the 
doctor  awakened.  While  he  stood  incapable  of  speaking, 
Cavendish,  with  one  glance  of  his  penetrating  eye,  de- 
ciphered his  countenance,  and  giving  him  a  friendly  shake 
by  the  hand,  disappeared. 

The  count  took  up  his  hat;  and  musing  all  the  way  he 
went  on  the  unexpected  scenes  we  meet  in  life — disap- 
pointment where  we  expected  kindness,  and  friendship 
where  no  hope  could  arise — he  arrived  at  the  door  of  Lady 
Dundas,  in  Harley  Street. 

He  was  instantly  let  in,  and  with  much  ceremony 
ushered  into  a  splendid  library,  where  he  was  told  the 
ladies  would  attend  him.  Before  they  entered,  they 
allowed  him  time  to  examine  its  costly  furniture,  its  glit- 
tering book-cases,  bird-cages,  globes,  and  reading-stands, 
all  shining  with  burnished  gilding;  its  polished  plaster 
casts  of  the  nine  muses,  which  stood  in  nine  recesses 
about  the  room,  draped  with  blue  net,  looped  up  with 
artificial  roses;  and  its  fine  cut-steel  Grecian  stove,  on  each 
side  of  which  was  placed,  on  sandal-wood  pedestals,  two 
five-feet  statues  of  Apollo  and  Minerva. 

Thaddeus  had  twice  walked  round  these  fopperies  of 
learning,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Lady  Dundas, 
dressed  in  a  morning  wrapper  of  Indian  shawls,  waddled 
into  the  apartment.  She  neither  bowed  nor  courtesied  to 
the  count,  who  was  standing  when  she  entered,  but  look- 
ing at  him  from  head  to  foot  said  as  she  passed,  "So  you 
are  come;"  and  ringing  the  bell,  called  to  the  servant  in 
no  very  soft  tones,  "Tell  Miss  Dundas  the  person  Lady 
Tinemouth  spoke  of  is  here."  Her  ladyship  then  sat 
down  in  one  of  the  little  gilded  chairs,  leaving  Thaddeus 
still  standing  on  the  spot  where  he  had  bowed  to  her 
entrance. 

"You  may  sit  down,"  cried  she,  stirring  the  fire,  and 
not  deigning  to  look  at  him;  "for  my  daughter  may  not 
choose  to  come  this  half -hour." 

"I  prefer  standing,"  replied  the  count,  who  could  have 
laughed  at  the  accuracy  of  Miss  Egerton's  picture,  had  he 
not  prognosticated  more  disagreeableness  to  himself  from 
the  ill  manners  of  which  this  was  a  specimen. 

Lady  Dundas  took  no  further  notice  of  him.  Turning 
from  her  bloated  countenance  (which  pride  as  well  as  high 
living  had    swollen    from    prettiuess  to  deformity),    he 


2g6  THADDEUS  OF  WAR8A  W. 

walked  to  a  window  and  stationed  himself  there,  looking 
into  the  street,  until  the  door  was  again  opened,  and  two 
ladies  made  their  appearance. 

"Miss  Dundas,"  cried  her  ladyship,  "here  is  the  young 
man  that  is  to  teach  you  German." 

Thaddeus  bowed;  the  younger  of  the  ladies  courtesied; 
and  so  did  the  other,  not  forgetting  to  accompany  such 
condescension  with  a  toss  of  the  head,  that  the  effect  of 
undue  humility  might  be  done  away. 

While  a  servant  was  setting  chairs  round  a  table,  on 
which  was  painted  the  Judgment  of  Hercules,  Lady  Dun- 
das again  opened  her  lips. 

"Pray,  Mr.  Thingumbob,  have  you  brought  any  gram- 
mars, and  primers,  and  dictionaries,  and  syntaxes  with 

you?" 

Before  he  had  time  to  reply  in  the  negative,  Miss  Dun- 
das interrupted  her  mother. 

"I  wish,  madam,  you  would  leave  the  arrangement  of 
my  studies  to  myself.  Does  your  ladyship  think  we  would 
learn  out  of  any  book  which  had  beeii  touched  by  other 
people?    Thomas,"  cried  she  to  a  servant,  "send  Stephens 

hither." 

Thaddeus  silently  contemplated  this  strange  mother 
and  daughter,  while  the  pretty  Euphemia  paid  the  same 
compliment  to  him.  During  his  stay,  he  ventured  to 
look  once  only  at  her  sylph-like  figure.  There  was  an 
unreceding  something  in  her  liquid  blue  eyes,  when  he 
chanced  to  meet  them,  which  displeased  him;  and  he 
could  not  help  seeing  that  from  the  instant  she  entered 
the  room  she  had  seldom  ceased  staring  in  his  face. 

He  was  a  little  relieved  by  the  maid  putting  the  books 
on  the  table.  Miss  Dundas,  taking  her  seat,  desired  him 
to  sit  down  by  her  and  arrange  the  lessons.  Lady  Dun- 
das was  drawing  to  the  other  side  of  Thaddeus,  when 
Euphemia,  suddenly  whisking  round,  pushed  before  her 
mother,  and  exclaimed: 

"Dear  mamma!  you  don't  want  to  learn!"  and  squeezed 
herself  upon  the  edge  of  her  mother's  chair,  who,  very 
angrily  getting  up,  declared  that  rudeness  to  a  parent  was 
intolerable  from  such  well-bred  young  women,  and  left 
the  room.  Euphemia  blushed  at  the  reproof  more  than 
at  her  conduct;  and  Miss  Dundas  added  to  her  confusion 
by  giving  her  a  second  reprimand.     Thaddeus  pitied  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  187 

evident  embarrassment  of  the  little  beanty,  and  to  relieve 
her,  presented  the  page  in  the  German  grammar  with 
which  they  were  to  begin.  This  had  the  desired  effect; 
and  for  an  hour  and  a  half  they  prosecuted  their  studies 
with  close  attention. 

While  the  count  continued  his  directions  to  her  sister, 
and  then  turned  his  address  to  herself,  Miss  Euphemia, 
wholly  unseen  by  him,  with  a  bent  head  was  affecting  to 
hear  him,  though  at  the  same  time  she  looked  obliquely 
through  her  thick  flaxen  ringlets,  and  gazing  with  wonder 
and  admiration  on  his  face  as  it  inclined  toward  her,  said 
to  herself,  "If  this  man  were  a  gentleman,  I  should  think 
him  the  most  charming  creature  in  the  world." 

"Will  your  task  be  too  long,  madam?"  inquired  Thad- 
deus;  "will  it  give  you  any  inconvenience  to  remember?" 

"To  remember  what?"  asked  she,  for  in  truth  she  had 
neither  seen  what  he  had  been  pointing  at  nor  heard  what 
he  had  been  saying. 

"The  lesson,  madam,  I  have- just  been  proposing." 

"Show  it  to  me  again,  and  then  I  shall  be  a  better 
judge." 

He  did  as  he  was  desired,  and  was  taking  his  leave, 
when  she  called  after  him : 

"Pray,  Mr.  Constantino,  come  to-morrow  at  two.  I 
want  you  particularly." 

The  count  bowed  and  withdrew. 

"And  what  clo  you  want  with  him  to-morrow,  child?" 
asked  Miss  Dundas;  "you  are  not  accustomed  to  be  so 
fond  of  improvement." 

Euphemia  knew  very  well  what  she  was  accustomed  to 
be  fond  of;  but  not  choosing  to  let  her  austere  sister  into 
her  predilection  for  the  contemplation  of  superior  beauty, 
she  merely  answered,  "You  know,  Diana,  you  often  re- 
proach me  for  my  absurd  devotion  to  novel-reading,  and 
my  repugnance  to  graver  books;  now  I  want  at  once  to  be 
like  you,  a  woman  of  great  erudition;  and  for  that  pur- 
pose I  will  study  day  and  night  at  the  German,  till  I  can 
read  all  the  philosophers,  and  be  a  fit  companion  for  my 
sister." 

This  speech  from  Euphemia  (who  had  always  been  so 
declared  an  enemy  to  pedantry  as  to  affirm  that  she 
learned  German  merely  because  it  was  the  fashion)  would 
have  awakened  Miss  Dundas  to  some  suspicion  of  a  covert 


188  THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W. 

design,  had  she  not  been  in  the  habit  of  taking  down  such 
large  draughts  of  adulation  that  whenever  herself  was 
the  subject,  she  gave  it  full  confidence.  Euphemia  sel- 
dom administered  these  doses  but  to  serve  particular 
views;  and  seeing  in  the  present  case  that  a  little  flattery 
was  necessary,  she  felt  no  compunction  in  sacrificing  sin- 
cerity to  the  gratification  of  caprice.  Weak  in  under- 
standing, she  had  fed  on  works  of  imagination  until  her 
mind  loathed  all  kinds  of  food.  Not  content  with 
devouring  the  elegant  pages  of  Mackenzie,  Eadcliffe,  and 
Lee,  she  flew  with  voracious  appetite  to  sate  herself  on 
the  garbage  of  any  circulating  library  that  fell  in  her 
way. 

The  effects  of  such  a  taste  were  exhibited  in  her  man- 
ners. Being  very  pretty,  she  became  very  sentimental. 
She  dressed  like  a  wood  nymph,  and  talked  as  if  her  soul 
were  made  of  love  and  sorrow.  Neither  of  these  emotions 
had  she  ever  really  felt;  but  in  idea  she  was  always  the 
victim  of  some  ill-fated  passion,  fancying  herself  at  dif- 
ferent periods  in  love  with  one  or  other  of  the  finest 
young  men  in  her  circle. 

By  this  management  she  kept  faithful  to  her  favorite 
principle  that  "love  was  a  want  of  her  soul!"  As  it  was 
the  rule  of  her  life,  it  ever  trembled  on  her  tongue,  ever 
introduced  the  confession  of  any  new  attachment,  which 
usually  happened  three  times  a  year,  to  her  dear  friend 
Miss  Arabella  Rothes.  Fortunately  for  the  longevity  of 
their  mutual  friendship,  this  young  lady  lived  in  an 
ancient  house,  forty  miles  to  the  north  of  London.  This 
latter  circumstance  proved  a  pretty  distress  for  their  pens 
to  descant  on ;  and  Arabella  remained  a  most  charming 
/sentimental  writing-stock,  to  receive  the  catalogue  of  Miss 
'Fuphemia's  lovers;  indeed,  that  gentle  creature  might 
have  matched  every  lady  in  Cowley's  calendar  with  a  gen- 
tleman. But  every  throb  of  her  heart  must  have  acknowl- 
edged a  different  master.  First,  the  fashionable  sloven, 
Augustus  Somers,  lounged  and  sauntered  himself  into  her 
good  graces;  but  his  disheveled  hair,  and  otherwise 
neglected  toilet,  not  exactly  meeting  her  ideaB  of  an 
elegant  lover,  she  gave  him  up  at  the  end  of  three  weeks. 
The  next  object  her  eyes  fell  upon,  as  most  opposite  to  her 
former  fancy,  was  the  charming  Marquis  of  Inverary. 
But  here  all  her  arrows  failed,  for  she  never  could  extract 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  189 

from  him  more  than  a  "how  d'ye  do?"  through  the  long 
lapse  of  four  months,  during  which  time  she  continued  as 
constant  to  his  fine  figure,  and  her  own  folly,  as  could 
have  fallen  to  the  lot  of  any  poor  despairing  damsel. 
However,  my  lord  was  so  cruel,  so  perfidious,  as  to  allow 
several  opportunities  to  pass  in  which  he  might  have 
declared  his  passion;  and  she  told  Arabella,  in  a  letter  of 
six  sheets,  that  she  would  bear  it  no  longer. 

She  put  this  wise  resolution  in  practice,  and  had  already 
played  the  same  game  with  half  a  score  (the  last  of  whom 
was  a  young  guardsman,  who  had  just  ridden  into  her 
heart  by  managing  his  steed  with  the  air  of  a  "feathered 
Mercury,"  one  day  in  Hyde  Park),  when  Thaddeus  made 
his  appearance  before  her. 

The  moment  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  him,  her  inflamma- 
ble imagination  was  set  in  a  blaze.  She  forgot  his  ap- 
parent subordinate  quality  in  the  nobleness  of  his  figure; 
and  once  or  twice  that  evening,  while  she  was  flitting 
abont,  the  sparkling  cynosure  of  the  Duchess  of  Orkney's 
masquerade,  her  thoughts  hovered  over  the  handsome 
foreigner. 

She  viewed  the  subject  first  one  way  and  then  another, 
and,  in  her  ever  varying  mind,  "he  was  everything  by 
turns,  and  nothing  long;"  but  at  length  she  argued  her- 
self into  a  belief  that  he  must  be  a  man  of  rank  from 
some  of  the  German  courts,  who  having  seen  her  some- 
where unknown  to  herself,  had  fallen  in  love  with  her, 
and  so  had  persuaded  Lady  Tinemouth  to  introduce  him 
as  a  master  of  languages  to  her  family  that  he  might  the 
better  appreciate  the  disinterestedness  of  her  disposition. 

This  wild  notion  having  once  got  into  her  head,  received 
instant  credence.  She  resolved,  without  seeming  to  sus- 
pect it,  to  treat  him  as  his  quality  deserved,  and  to  deliver 
sentiments  in  his  hearing  which  should  charm  him  with 
their  delicacy  and  generosity. 

With  these  chimeras  floating  in  her  brain,  she  returned 
home,  went  to  bed,  and  dreamed  that  Mr.  Constantine 
had  turned  out  to  be  the  Due  d'Enghien,  had  offered  her 
his  hand,  and  that  she  was  conducted  to  the  altar  by  a 
train  of  princes  and  princesses,  his  brothers  and  sisters. 

She  woke  the  next  morning  from  these  deliriums  in  an 
ecstasy,  deeming  them  prophetic;  and,  taking  up  her 
book,  began  with  a  fluttering  attention  to  scan  the  lesson 
which  Thaddeus  had  desired  her  to  learn. 


190  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 


"  What  are  these  words ?    These  seeming  flowers?    Maids  do  call 
them,  '  Love  in  idleness. 


>  >y 


The  following  day  at  norni,  as  the  Count  Sobieski  was 
crossing  Cavendish  Square  to  keep  his  appointment  in 
Harley  Street,  he  was  met  by  Lady  Sara  Ross.  She  had 
spoken  with  the  Misses  Dundas  the  night  before,  at  the 
masquerade,  where  discovering  the  pretty  Euphemia 
through  the  dress  of  Eloisa,  her  jealous  and  incensed 
heart  could  not  withstand  the  temptation  of  hinting  at 
the  captivating  Abelard  she  had  selected  to  direct  her 
studies.  Her  ladyship  soon  penetrated  into  the  situation 
of  Euphemia's  heated  fancy,  and  drew  from  her  without 
betraying  herself,  that  she  expected  to  see  her  master  the 
following  day.  Stung  to  the  soul,  Lady  Sara  quitted  the 
rooms,  and  in  a  paroxysm  of  disappointment,  determined 
to  throw  herself  in  his  way  as  he  went  to  her  rivals'  house. 

With  this  hope,  she  had  already  been  traversing  the 
square  upward  of  half  an  hour,  attended  by  her  maid, 
when  her  anxious  eye  at  last  caught  a  view  of  his  figure 
proceeding  along  Margaret  Street.  Hardly  able  to  sup- 
port her  tottering  frame,  shaken  as  it  was  with  contend- 
ing emotions,  she  accosted  him  first;  for  he  was  passing 
straight  onward,  without  looking  to  the  right  or  the  left. 
On  seeing  her  ladyship,  he  stopped,  and  expressed  his 
pleasure  at  the  meeting. 

"If  you  really  are  pleased  to  meet  me,"  said  she,  forc- 
ing a  smile,  "take  a  walk  with  me  round  the  square.  I 
want  to  speak  with  you." 

Thaddeus  bowed,  and  she  put  her  arm  through  his,  but 
remained  silent  for  a  few  minutes,  in  evident  confusion. 
The  count  recollected  it  must  now  be  quite  two.  He 
knew  the  awkwardness  of  making  the  Misses  Dundas 
wait;  and  notwithstanding  his  reluctance  to  appear  im- 
patient with  Lady  Sara,  he  found  himself  obliged  to  say: 

"I  am  sorry  I  must  urge  your  ladyship  to  honor  me 
with  your  commands,  for  it  is  already  past  the  time  when 
I  ought  to  have  been  with  the  Misses  Dundas." 

"  Yes,"  cried  Lady  Sara  angrily,  "Miss  Euphemia   told 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  191 

me  as  much;  but,  Mr.  Constantine,  as  a  friend,  I  must 
warn  you  against  her  acts,  as  well  as  against  those  of 
another  lady,  who  would  do  well  to  correct  the  boldness  of 
her  manner." 

"Whom  do  you  mean,  madam?"  interrogated  Thad- 
deus,  surprised  at  her  warmth,  and  totally  at  a  loss  to 
conjecture  to  whom  she  alluded. 

"A  little  reflection  would  answer  you,"  returned  she, l 
wishing  to  retreat  from  an  explanation,  yet  stimulated  by 
her  double  jealousy  to  proceed;  "she  may  be  a  good  girl, 
Mr.  Constantine,  and  I  dare  say  she  is;  but  a  woman  who 
has  promised  her  hand  to  another  ought  not  to  flirt  with 
you.  What  business  had  Miss  Egerton  to  command  you 
to  wear  an  English  dress?  But  she  must  now  see  the 
danger  of  her  conduct,  by  your  having  presumed  to  obey 
her." 

"Lady  Sara!"  exclaimed  the  count,  much  hurt  at  this 
speech,  "I  hardly  understand  you;  yet  I  believe  I  may 
venture  to  affirm  that  in  all  which  you  have  just  now  said, 
you  are  mistaken.  Who  can  witness  the  general  frank- 
ness of  Miss  Egerton,  or  listen  to  the  candid  manner  with 
which  she  avows  her  attachment  to  Mr.  Montresor,  and 
conceive  that  she  possesses  any  thoughts  which  would  not 
do  her  honor  to  reveal?  And  for  myself,"  added  he, 
lowering  the  tone  of  his  voice,  "I  trust  the  least  of  my 
faults  is  presumption.  It  never  was  my  character  to  pre- 
sume on  any  lady's  condescension;  and  if  dressing  as  she 
approved  be  deemed  an  instance  of  that  kind,  I  can 
declare  upon  my  word,  had  I  not  found  other  motives 
besides  her  raillery,  my  appearance  should  not  have  suf- 
fered a  change." 

"Are  you  sincere,  Mr.  Constantine?"  cried  Lady  Sara, 
now  smiling  "vith  pleasure. 

"Indeed  1  am,  and  happy  if  my  explanations  have  met 
with  your  ladyship's  approbation." 

"Mr  Constantine,"  resumed  she,  "I  have  no  motive 
but  one  in  my  discourse  with  you — friendship."  And 
casting  her  eyes  down  she  sighed  profoundly. 

"Your  ladyship  does  me  honor." 

"I  would  have  you  to  regard  me  with  the  same  con- 
fidence that  you  do  Lady  Tinemouth.  My  father  possesses 
the  first  patronage  in  this  country,  I  therefore  have  it  a 
thousand  times  move  in  my  power  t.lum  «he  has  to  render 
yow  »  servip^''* 


193  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Here  her  ladyship  overshot  herself;  she  had  not  calcu- 
lated well  on  the  nature  of  the  mind  she  wished  to 
ensnare. 

"I  am  grateful  to  your  generosity,"  replied  Thaddeus; 
"but  on  this  head  I  must  decline  your  kind  offices. 
While  I  consider  myself  the  subject  of  one  king,  though 
he  be  in  a  prison,  I  cannot  accept  of  any  employment 
under  another  who  is  in  alliance  with  his  enemies." 

Lady  Sara  discovered  her  error  the  moment  he  had 
made  his  answer;  and  in  a  disappointed  tone  exclaimed, 
"Then  you  despise  my  friendship!" 

"No,  Lady  Sara;  it  is  an  honor  far  beyond  my  merits; 
and  my  gratitude  to  Lady  Tinemouth  must  be  doubled 
when  I  recollect  that  I  possess  such  honor  through  her 


means." 


'Well,"  cried  her  ladyship,  "have  that  as  you  will;  but 
I  expect,  as  a  specimen  of  your  confidence  in  me,  you  will 
be  wary  of  Euphemia  Dundas.  I  know  she  is  artful  and 
vain;  she  finds  amusement  in  attracting  the  affections  of 
men;  and  then,  notwithstanding  her  affected  sensibility, 
ghe  turns  them  into  a  subject  for  laughter." 

"I  thank  your  ladyship,"  replied  the  count;  "but  in 
this  respect  I  think  I  am  safe,  both  from  the  lady  and 
myself." 

"How,"  asked  Lady  Sara,  rather  too  eagerly,  "is  your 
heart "     She  paused  and  looked  down. 

"No,  madam!"  replied  he,  sighing  as  deeply  as  herself; 
but  with  his  thoughts  far  from  her  and  the  object  of  their 
discourse;  "I  have  no  place  in  my  heart  to  give  to  love. 
Besides,  the  quality  in  which  I  appear  at  Lady  Dundas' 
would  preclude  the  vainest  man  alive  from  supposing  that 
such  notice  from  any  lady  there  to  him  could  be  possible. 
Therefore,  I  am  safe,  though  I  acknowledge  my  obliga- 
tion to  your  ladyship's  caution." 

Lady  Sara  was  satisfied  with  the  first  part  of  this 
answer.  It  declared  that  his  heart  was  unoccupied;  and, 
as  he  had  accepted  her  proffered  friendship,  she  doubted 
not,  when  assisted  by  more  frequent  displays  of  her  fas- 
cinations, she  could  destroy  its  lambent  nature,  and  in  the 
end  light  up  in  his  bosom  a  similar  fire  to  that  which  con- 
sumed her  own. 

The  unconscious  object  of  all  these  devices  began 
internally  to  accuse  hia'vanity  of  having  been  too  fanciful 


TEA  DDE  US  OF  WA  RSA  W.  1 W 

in  the  formation  of  suspicions  which  on  a  former  occasion 
he  had  believed  himself  forced  to  admit.  Blushing  a/' 
a  quickness  of  perception  his  contrition  now  denominated 
folly,  he  found  himself  at  the  bottom  of  Harley  Street. 

Lady  Sara  called  her  servant  to  walk  nearer  to  her;  and 
telling  Thaddeus  she  should  expect  him  the  next  evening 
at  Lady  Tinemouth's,  wished  him  good-morning. 

He  was  certain  that  he  must  have  stayed  at  least  half  an 
hour  beyond  the  time  when  he  ought  to  be  with  the 
sisters.  Anticipating  very  haughty  looks,  and  perhaps  a 
reprimand,  he  knocked  at  the  door,  and  was  again  shown 
into  the  library.     Miss  Euphemia  was  alone. 

He  offered  some  indistinct  excuse  for  having  made  her 
wait;  but  Euphemia,  with  good-humored  alacrity,  inter- 
rupted him. 

"Oh,  pray,  don't  mind;  you  have  made  nobody  wait 
but  me,  and  I  can  easily  forgive  it;  for  mamma  and  my 
sister  chose  to  go  out  at  one,  it  being  May-day,  to  see  the 
chimney-sweepers  dine  at  Mrs.  Montague's.*  They  did 
as  they  liked,  and  I  preferred  staying  at  home  to  repeat 
my  lesson." 

Thaddeus,  thanking  her  for  her  indulgence,  sat  down, 
and  taking  the  book,  began  to  question  her.  Not  one 
word  could  she  recollect.     She  smiled. 

"I  am  afraid,  madam,  you  have  never  thought  of  it 
since  yesterday  morning. " 

"Indeed,  I  have  thought  of  nothing  else;  you  must 
forgive  me.  I  am  very  stupid,  Mr.  Constantine,  at  learn- 
ing languages;  and  German  is  so  harsh — at  least  to  my 
ears!  Cannot  you  teach  me  any  other  thing?  I  should 
like  to  learn  of  you  of  all  things,  but  do  think  of  some- 
thing else  besides  this  odious  jargon !  Cannot  you  teach 
me  to  read  poetry  elegantly?  Shakespeare,  for  instance; 
I  dote  upon  Shakespeare!" 

"That  would  be  strange  presumption  in  a  foreigner?" 

*  This  was  a  gay  spectacle,  and  a  most  kind  act  to  these  poor  chil- 
dren, who  thus  once  a  year  found  themselves  refreshed  and  happy. 
They  resorted  to  the  green  courtyard  of  Mrs.  Montague's  house  every 
Mayday,  about  one  o'clock,  dressed  in  their  gala  wreaths,  and  sporting 
with  their  brushes  and  shovels,  where  they  found  a  good  dinner, 
kind  words  from  their  hostess  and  her  guests,  and  each  little  sweep 
received  a  shilling  at  parting.  On  the  death  of  Mrs.  Montague,  this 
humane  and  pleasurable  spectacle  ctased. 


1 94  THADDEUS  OF  WA  RSA  W. 

"No  presumption  in  the  least,"  cried  she;  "if  yon  can 
do  it,  pray  begin!     There  is  Romeo  and  Juliet." 

Thaddeus  pushed  away  the  book  with  a  smile. 

"I  cannot  obey.  I  understand  Shakespeare  with  as 
much  ease  as  you,  madam,  will  soon  do  Schiller,  if  you 
apply,  but  I  cannot  pretend  to  read  the  play  aloud." 

"Dear  me,  how  vexatious!  but  I  must  hear  you  read 
something.  Do,  take  up  that  Werther.  My  sister  got  it 
from  the  Prussian  ambassador,  and  he  tells  me  it  is  sweet- 
est in  its  own  language." 

The  count  opened  the  book. 

"But  you  will  not  understand  a  word  of  it." 

"I  don't  care  for  that;  I  have  it  by  heart  in  Euglish; 
and  if  you  will  only  read  his  last  letter  to  Charlotte,  I 
Know  I  can  follow  you  in  my  own  mind." 

To  please  this  whimsical  little  creature,  Thaddeus 
turned  to  the  letter,  and  read  it  forward  with  a  pathos 
natural  to  his  voice  and  character.  When  he  came  to  an 
end  and  closed  the  volume,  the  cadence  of  his  tones,  and 
the  lady's  memory,  did  ample  justice  to  her  sensibility. 
She  looked  up,  and  smiling  through  her  watery  eyes, 
which  glittered  like  violets  wet  with  dew,  drew  out  her 
perfumed  handkerchief,  and  wiping  them,  said: 

"I  thank  you,  Mr.  Constantine.  You  see  by  this  irre- 
pressible emotion  that  I  feel  Goethe,  and  did  not  ask  you 
a  vain  favor." 

Thaddeus  bowed,  for  he  was  at  a  loss  to  guess  what 
kind  of  a  reply  could  be  expected  by  so  strange  a  creature. 

She  continued : 

"You  are  a  German,  Mr.  Constantine.  Did  you  ever 
see  Charlotte?" 

"Never,  madam." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that;  I  should  have  liked  to  have  heard 
what  sort  of  a  beauty  she  was.  But  don't  you  think  she 
behaved  cruelly  to  AVerther?     Perhaps  you  knew  him!" 

"No,  madam;  this  lamentable  story  happened  before  I 
was  born." 

"How  unhappy  for  him!  I  am  sure  yon  would  have 
made  the  most  charming  friends  in  the  Avorld!  Have  you 
a  friend,  Mr.  Constantine?" 

The  count  looked  at  her  with  surprise.  She  laughed  at 
the  expression  of  his  countenance. 

"I  dos'fc  mean  inch  frie<>'i*  as  one's  father,  mother, 


THADDEUS  OF  WAR8A  W.  195 

sisters  and  relations:  most  people  have  enough  of  th em. 
I  mean  a  tender,  confiding  friend,  to  whom  you  unbosom 
all  your  secrets;  who  is  your  other  self — a  second  soul! 
In  short,  a  creature  in  whose  existence  you  forget  your 
own!" 

Thaddeus  followed  with  his  eyes  the  heightened  color 
of  the  fair  enthusiast,  who,  accompanying  her  rhapsody 
with  action  expressive  as  her  words,  had  to  repeat  her 
question,  "Have  you  such  a  friend?"  before  he  found 
recollection  to  answer  her  in  the  negative. 

The  count,  who  had  never  been  used  to  such  extrav- 
agant behavior  in  a  woman,  would  have  regarded  Miss 
Euphemia  Dundas  as  little  better  than  insane  had  he  not 
been  prepared  by  Miss  Egerton's  description;  and  he  now 
acquiesced  in  the  young  lady's  desire  to  detain  him  an- 
other hour,  half-amused  and  half-wearied  with  her  aim- 
less and  wild  fancies.  But  here  he  was  mistaken.  Her 
fancies  were  not  aimless;  his  heart  was  the  game  she  had 
in  view,  and  she  determined  a  desperate  attack  should 
make  it  her  own,  in  return  for  the  deep  wounds  she  had 
received  from  every  tone  of  his  voice,  while  reading  the 
Sorrows  of  Werther. 


CHAPTEE  XXIV. 

LADY    TINEMOUTH'S    BOUDOIR. 

Thaddeus  spent  nearly  a  fortnight  in  the  constant 
exercise  of  his  occupations.  In  the  fore  part  of  each  day, 
until  two,  he  prepared  those  drawings  by  the  sale  of 
which  he  was  empowered  every  week  to  pay  the  good 
Mrs.  Robson  for  her  care  of  his  friend.  And  he  hoped, 
when  the  ladies  in  Harley  Street  should  think  it  time  to 
defray  any  part  of  their  now  large  debt  to  him,  he  might 
be  enabled  to  liquidate  the  very  long  bill  of  his  friend's 
apothecary.  But  the  Misses  Dundas  possessed  too  much 
money  to  think  of  its  utility;  they  used  it  as  counters; 
for  they  had  no  conception  that  to  other  people  it  might 
be  the  purchaser  of  almost  every  comfort.  Their  com- 
forts came  so  certainly,  they  supposed  they  grew  of  neces- 
sity out  of  their  situation,  and  their  great  wealth  owned 


196  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

no  other  commission  than  to  give  splendid  parties  and 
buy  fine  things.  Their  golden  shower  being  exhaled  by 
the  same  vanity  by  which  it  had  been  shed,  they  as  little 
regarded  its  dispersion  as  they  had  marked  its  descent. 

Hence,  these  amiable  ladies  never  once  recollected  that 
their  master  ought  to  receive  some  weightier  remunera- 
tion for  his  visits  than  the  honor  of  paying  them ;  and  as 
poets  say  the  highest  honors  are  achieved  by  suffering,  so 
these  two  sisters,  though  in  different  ways,  seemed  re- 
solved that  Thaddeus  should  purchase  his  distinction  with 
adequate  pains. 

Notwithstanding  that  Miss  Dundas  continued  very 
remiss  in  her  lessons,  she  unrelentingly  required  the 
count's  attendance,  and  sometimes,  not  in  the  most  gen- 
tle language,  reproached  him  for  a  backwardness  in  learn- 
ing she  owed  entirely  to  her  own  inattention  and  stupidity. 
The  fair  Diana  would  have  been  the  most  erudite  woman 
in  the  world  could  she  have  found  any  fine-lady  path  to 
the  temple  of  science;  but  the  goddess  who  presides  there 
being  only  to  be  won  by  arduous  climbing,  poor  Miss 
Dundas,  like  the  indolent  monarch  who  made  the  same 
demand  of  the  philosophers,  was  obliged  to  lay  the  fault 
of  her  own  slippery  feet  on  the  weakness  of  her  con- 
ductor's. 

As  Thaddeus  despised  her  most  heartily,  he  bore  ill- 
humor  from  that  quarter  with  unshaken  equanimity. 
But  the  pretty  Euphemia  was  not  so  easily  managed.  She 
had  now  completely  given  up  her  fanciful  soul  to  this 
prince  in  disguise,  and  already  began  to  act  a  thousand 
extravagances.  Without  suspecting  the  object,  Diana 
soon  discovered  that  her  sister  was  in  one  of  her  love  fits. 
Indeed  she  cared  nothing  about  it;  and  leaving  her  to 
pursue  the  passion  as  she  liked,  poor  Euphemia,  accord- 
ing to  her  custom,  when  laboring  under  this  whimsical 
malady,  addicted  herself  to  solitude.  This  romantic  taste 
she  generally  indulged  by  taking  her  footman  to  the  gate 
of  the  green  in  Cavendish  Square,  where  he  stood  until 
she  had  performed  a  pensive  saunter  up  and  down  the 
walk.  After  this  she  returned  home,  adjusted  her  hair 
in  the  Madonna  fashion  (because  Thaddeus  had  one  day 
admired  the  female  head  in  a  Holy  Family,  by  Guido, 
over  the  chimney-piece),  and  then  seating  herself  in  some 
becoming  attitude,  usually   waited,  with   her  eyes  con- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  107 

stantly  turning  to  the  floor,  until  the  object  of  these  de- 
vices presented  himself.  She  impatiently  watched  all  his 
motions  and  looks  while  he  attended  to  her  sister;  and 
the  moment  that  was  done,  she  ran  over  her  own  lessons 
with  great  volubility,  but  little  attention.  Her  task 
finished,  she  shut  the  books,  and  employed  the  remainder 
of  the  time  in  translating  a  number  of  little  mottos  into 
German,  which  she  had  composed  for  boxes,  baskets,  and 
other  frippery. 

One  day,  when  her  young  teacher  was,  as  usual,  tired 
almost  beyond  endurance  with  making  common  sense  out 
of  so  much  nonsense,  Euphemia  observed  that  Diana  had 
removed  to  the  other  end  of  the  room  with  the  Honorable 
Mr.  Lascelles.  To  give  an  eclat  to  her  new  studies,  Miss 
Dundas  had  lately  opened  her  library  door  to  morning 
visitors;  and  seeing  her  sister  thus  engaged,  Euphemia 
thought  she  might  do  what  she  wished  without  detection. 
Hastily  drawing  a  folded  paper  from  her  pocket,  she 
desired  Thaddeus  to  take  it  home,  and  translate  it  into 
the  language  he  liked  best. 

Surprised  at  her  manner,  he  held  it  in  his  hand. 

"Put  it  in  your  pocket,"  added  sht,  in  a  hurrying 
voice,  "else  my  sister  may  see  it,  and  ask  what  it  is!" 

Full  of  wonder,  he  obeyed  her;  and  the  little  beauty, 
having  executed  her  scheme,  seemed  quite  intoxicated 
with  delight.  When  he  was  preparing  to  withdraw,  she 
called  to  him,  and  asked  when  he  should  visit  Lady  Tine- 
mouth. 

"This  evening,  madam." 

"Then,"  returned  she,  "tell  her  ladyship  I  shall  come 
and  sit  half  an  hour  with  her  to-night;  and  here,"  added 
she,  running  up  to  him,  "present  her  that  rose,  with  my 
love."  While  she  put  it  into  his  hand,  she  whispered  in 
a  low  voice,  "and  you  will  tell  me  what  you  think  of 
the  verses  I  have  given  you." 

Thaddeus  colored  and  bowed.  He  hurried  out  of  the 
house  into  the  street,  as  if  by  that  haste  he  could  have 
gotten  out  of  a  dilemma  to  which  he  feared  all  this  foolish 
mystery  might  be  only  the  introduction. 

Though  of  all  men  in  the  world  he  was  perhaps  the 
least  inclined  to  vanity,  yet  he  must  have  been  one  of  the 
most  stupid  had  he  not  been  convinced  by  this  time  of 
the  dangerous  attachment  of  Lady  Sara.     Added  to  that 


19g  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

painful   certainty  he  now   more  than  dreaded  a  similai 
though  a  slighter  folly  in  Miss  Euphemia. 

Can  a  man  see  himself  the  daily  object  of  a  pair  of 
melting  eyes,  hear  everlasting  sighs  at  his  entrance  and 
departure,  day  after  day  receive  tender  though  covert 
addresses  about  disinterested  love,  can  he  witness  all  this, 
and  be  sincere  when  he  affirms  it  is  the  language  of  indif- 
ference? If  that  be  possible,  the  Count  Sobieski  has  no 
pretensions  of  modesty.  He  comprehended  the  "dis- 
coursing" of  Miss  Euphemia's  "eye;"  also  the  tendency 
of  the  love-sick  mottos  which,  under  various  excuses  she 
put  into  his  hand ;  and  with  many  a  pitying  smile  of  con- 
tempt he  contemplated  her  childish  absurdity. 

A  few  days  prior  to  that  in  which  she  made  this  ap- 
pointment with  Thaddeus,  she  had  presented  to  him 
smother  of  her  posies,  which  ran  thus:  "Frighted  love, 
like  a  wild  beast,  shakes  the  wood  in  which  it  hides." 

Thaddeus  almost  laughed  at  the  oddity  of  the  conceit. 

"Do,  dear  Mr.  Constantine,"  cried  she,  "translate  it 
into  the  sweetest  French  you  can ;  for  I  mean  to  have  it 
put  into  a  medallion,  and  to  give  it  to  the  person  whom  I 
most  value  on  earth !" 

There  was  something  so  truly  ridiculous  in  the  sen- 
tence that,  reluctant  to  allow  even  Miss  Euphemia  to  expose 
herself  so  far,  he  considered  a  moment  how  he  should 
make  anything  so  bad  better,  and  then  said:  "I  am 
afraid  I  cannot  translate  it  literally;  but  surely,  madam, 
you  can  do  it  yourself!" 

"Yes;  but  I  like  your  French   better  than  mine;  so 

pray  oblige  me." 

He  had  done  the  same  kind  of  thing  a  hundred  times 
for  her,  and,  without  further  discussion,  wrote  as  follows: 

"L'amour  tel  qu'une  biche  blessee,  se  trahit  lui-meme 
par  sa  crainte,  quit  fait  remuer  lefeuillage  qui  le  couvre." 

"Bless  me,  how  pretty!"  cried  she,  and  immediately 
put  it  into  her  bosom. 

To  this  unlucky  addition  of  the  words  se  trahit  lui- 
meme  Thaddeus  was  indebted  for  the  present  of  the  folded 
paper.  The  ever-working  imagination  of  Euphemia  had 
seized  the  inserted  thought  as  a  delicate  avowal  that  he 
was  the  wounded  deer  he  had  substituted  in  place  of  the 
wild  beast;  and  as  soon  as  he  arrived  at  home,  he  found 
the  fruits  of  her  mistake  in  the  packet  she  had  given  with 
so  much  secrecy. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  199 

When  he  broke  the  seal,  something  dropped  out  and 
fell  on  the  carpet.  He  took  it  up,  and  blushed  for  her  on 
finding  a  gold  medallion,  with  the  words  he  had  altered 
for  Miss  Euphemia  engraved  on  blue  enamel.  With  a 
vexed  haste  he  next  looked  at  the  envelope;  it  contained 
a  copy  of  verses,  with  this  line  written  at  the  top  : 

"To  him  who  will  apply  them." 

On  perusing  them,  he  found  them  to  be  Mrs.  Phillips'" 
beautiful  translation  of  that  ode  of  Sappho  which  runs: 

"  Blest  as  the  immortal  gods  is  be, 
The  friend  who  fondly  sits  by  tbee, 
And  hears  and  sees  thee  all  the  while 
Softly  speak  and  sweetly  smile  ! 

"  'Twas  this  deprived  my  soul  of  rest, 
And  rais'd  such  tumults  in  my  breast: 
For  while  1  gazed,  in  transport  tost, 
My  breath  was  gone,  my  voice  was  lost. 

"  My  bosom  glow'd;  the  subtle  flame 
Ran  quick  through  all  my  vital  frame; 
O'er  my  dim  eyes  a  darkness  hung; 
My  ears  with  hollow  murmurs  rung. 

"  In  dewy  damps  my  limbs  were  chill'd; 
My  blood  with  gentle  horrors  thrill'd; 
My  feeble  pulse  forgot  to  play; 
I  fainted,  sank  and  died  away  ! 

"  Euphemia." 

Thaddeus  threw  the  verses  and  the  medallion  together 
on  the  table,  and  sat  for  a  few  minutes  considering  how 
he  could  extricate  himself  from  an  affair  so  truly  farcical 
in  itself,  but  which  might  be  productive  of  a  very  distress- 
ing consequence  to  him. 

He  was  thinking  of  at  once  giving  up  the  task  of  at- 
tending either  of  the  sisters,  when  his  eyes  falling  on  the 
uncomplaining  but  melancholy  features  of  his  poor  friend, 
he  exclaimed,  "No;  for  thy  sake,  gallant  Butzou,  I  will 
brave  every  scene,  however  abhorrent  to  my  heart." 

WTell  aware,  from  observation  on  Miss  Euphemia,  that 
the  seeming  tenderness  which  prompted  an  act  so  wild 
and  unbecoming  originated  in  mere  caprice,  he  did  not 
hesitate  in  determining  to  return  the  things  in  as  hand- 
some a  manner  as  possible,  and  by  go  doing,  at  once  crush 


200  THADDETIS  OF  WARSAW. 

the   whole    affair.     He   felt   no   pain    in    forming    those 
resolves,  because  he  saw  that  not  one  impulse  of  her  con- 
duct  sprang  from  her  heart.     It  was  a  whim  raised  by 
him  to-day,  which  might  be  superseded  by  another  to 
morrow. 

But  how  different  was  the  case  with  regard  to  Lady 
Sara !  Her  uncontrolled  nature  could  not  long  brook  the 
restraints  of  friendship.  Every  attention  he  gave  to  Lady 
Tinemouth,  every  civility  he  paid  to  Miss  Egerton,  or  to 
any  other  lady  whom  he  met  at  the  countess'  went  like 
a  dagger  to  her  soul;  and  whenever  she  could  gain  his  ear 
in  private,  she  generally  made  him  sensible  of  her  misery, 
and  his  own  unhappiness  in  being  its  cause,  by  reproaches 
which  too  unequivocally  proclaimed  their  source. 

He  now  saw  that  she  had  given  way  to  a  reprehensible 
and  headstrong  passion;  and,  allowing  for  the  politeness 
which  is  due  to  the  sex,  he  tried,  by  an  appearance  of  the 
most  stubborn  coldness,  and  an  obstinate  perversity  in 
shutting  his  apprehension  against  all  her  speeches  and 
actions,  to  stem  a  tide  that  threatened  her  with  ruin. 

Lady  Tinemouth  at  last  began  to  open  her  eyes  to  the 
perilous  situation  of  both  her  friends.  Highly  as  she 
esteemed  Thaddeus,  she  knew  not  the  extent  of  his  in- 
tegrity. She  had  lived  too  long  near  the  circle  of  the  heir 
apparent,  and  had  seen  too  many  men  from  the  courts  of 
the  Continent,  to  place  much  reliance  on  the  firmness  of  a 
single  and  unattached  young  man  when  assailed  by  rank, 
beauty  and  love. 

Alarmed  at  what  might  be  the  result  of  her  observa- 
tions, and  fearing  to  lose  any  time,  she  had  that  very 
evening  in  which  she  expected  Thaddeus  to  supper  drawn 
out  of  Lady  Sara  the  unhappy  state  of  her  heart. 

The  dreadful  confession  was  made  by  her  ladyship,  with 
repeated  showers  of  tears,  and  in  paroxysms  of  agony 
which  pierced  the  countess  to  the  soul. 

"My  dear  Lady  Sara,"  cried  she,  "for  heaven's  sake, 
remember  your  duty  to  Captain  Ross!" 

"I  never  shall  forget  it,"  exclaimed  her  ladyship,  shak- 
ing her  head  mournfully,  and  striking  her  breast  with  her 
clinched  hand,  "I  never  look  on  the  face  of  Constantine 
that  I  do  not  execrate  from  my  heart  the  vows  which  I 
have  sworn  to  Ross;  but  I  have  bound  myself  his  property, 
and  though  I  hate  him,  whatever  it  may  cost  me,  I  will 
never  forget  that  my  faith  and  honor  are  my  husband's .." 


TBADDEUS  OF  WABSA  W.  ^01 

With  a  countenance  bathed  in  tears,  Lady  Tinemonth 
put  her  arms  round  the  waist  of  Lady  Sara,  who  now  sat 
motionless,  with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  fire. 

"Dear  Lady  Sara!  that  was  spoken  like  yourself.  Do 
more;  abstain  from  seeing  Mr.  Constantine." 

"Don't  require  of  me  that!"  cried  she;  "I  could  easier 
rid  myself  of  existence.  He  is  the  very  essence  of  my 
•happiness.  It  is  only  in  his  company  that  I  forget  that 
I  am  a  wretch." 

"This  is  obstinacy,  my  dear  Lady  Sara!  This  is  court- 
ing danger." 

"Lady  Tinemonth,  urge  me  no  more.  Is  it  not 
enough?"  continued  she  sullenly,  "that  I  am  miserable? 
Would  you  drive  me  to  desperation?  If  there  be  danger 
you  brought  me  into  it." 

"I!  Lady  Sara?" 

"Yes,  you,  Lady  Tinemouth;  you  introduced  him  to 
me." 

"But  you  are  married!  Singularly  attractive  and  amia- 
ble as  indeed  he  is,  could  I  suppose " 

"Nonsense!"  cried  her  ladyship,  interrupting  her; 
"you  know  that  I  am  married  to  a  mere  sailor,  more  in 
love  with  his  ugly  ship  than  with  me!  But  it  is  not  be- 
cause Constantine  is  so  handsome  that  I  like  him.  No; 
though  no  human  form  can  come  nearer  to  perfection,  yet 
it  was  not  that;  it  was  you.  You  and  Sophia  Egerton 
were  always  telling  me  of  his  bravery;  what  wealth  and 
honors  he  had  sacrificed  in  the  service  of  his  country; 
how  nobly  he  succored  the  distresses  of  others;  how  heed- 
less he  was  of  his  own.  This  fired  my  imagination  and 
won  my  heart.  No;  it  was  not  his  personal  attractions; 
I  am  not  so  despicable!" 

"Dear  Lady  Sara,  be  calm!"  entreated  the  countess, 
completely  at  a  loss  how  to  manage  a  spirit  of  such 
violence.  "Think,  my  dear  friend,  what  horrors  you 
would  experience  if  Mr.  Constantine  were  to  discover  this 
predilection,  and  presume  upon  it!  You  know  where 
even  the  best  men  are  vulnerable." 

The  eyes  of  Lady  Sara  sparkled  with  pleasure. 

"Why,  surely,  Lady  Sara!"  exclaimed  Lady  Tinemouth 
doubtingly. 

"Do  not  fear  me,  Lady  Tinemouth;  I  know  my  own 
dignity  too  well  to  do  anything  disgraceful;  yet  I  Would 


202  TUADDEU8  OF  WARSAW. 

acquire  the  knowledge  that  he  loves  me  at  almost  any 
price.  Bat  he  is  cold,"  added  she,  "he  is  a  piece  of 
obstinate  petrifaction,  which  heaven  itself  could  not 
melt!" 

Lady  Tinemouth  was  glad  to  hear  this  account  of  Thad- 
deus;  but  ere  she  could  reply,  the  drawing-room  door 
opened,  and  Miss  Euphemia  Dundas  was  announced. 

When  the  little  beauty  expressed  her  amazement  at  not 
seeing  Mr.  Constantine,  Lady  Sara  gave  her  such  a 
Avithering  look  that  had  her  ladyship's  eyes  been  Me- 
dusan,  poor  Euphemia  would  have  stood  there  forever 
after,  a  stone  statue  of  disappointment. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

THE  COUNTESS   OF  TINEMOUTH'S  STORY. 

Meanwhile  the  count,  having  seen  Dr.  Cavendish, 
and  received  a  favorable  opinion  of  his  friend,  wrote  the 
following  note  to  Miss  Euphemia: 

"To  Miss  Euphemia  Dundas. 

"Mr.  Constantine  very  much  admires  the  taste  of  Miss 
Euphemia  Dundas  in  her  choice  of  the  verses  which  she 
did  him  the  honor  of  requesting  he  would  translate  into 
the  most  expressive  language,  and  to  the  utmost  of  his 
abilities  he  has  obeyed  her  commands  in  Italian,  thinking 
that  language  the  best  adapted  to  the  versification  of  the 
original. 

"Mr.  Constantine  equally  admires  the  style  of  the 
medallion  which  Miss  E.  Dundas  has  condescended  to 
inclose  for  his  inspection,  and  assures  her  the  letters  are 
correct." 

Having  sealed  his  note,  and  seen  the  general  in  bed, 
with  little  Nanny  seated  by  him  to  watch  his  slumbers, 
Thaddeus  pursued  his  way  to  Grosvenor  Place. 

When  he  entered  Lady  Tinemouth's  drawing-room,  he 
saw  that  his  young  inamorata  had  already  arrived,  and 
was  in  close  conversation  with  the  countess.  Lady  Sara, 
seated  alone  on  a  sofa,  inwardly  upbraided  Constantine  for 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  203 

what  she  thought  an  absolute  assignation  with  Enphe- 
mia. 

Her  half-resentful  eyes,  yet  dewed  with  the  tears  which 
her  discourse  with  Lady  Tinemouth  had  occasioned, 
sought  his  averted  face,  while  he  looked  at  Miss  Dundas 
with  evident  surprise  and  disgust.  This  pleased  her;  and 
the  more  so  as  he  only  bowed  to  her  rival,  shook  the  count- 
ess .  by  the  hand,  and  then  turning,  took  his  station  beside 
herself  on  the  sofa. 

She  would  not  trust  her  triumphant  eyes  toward  Lady 
Tinemouth,  but  immediately  asked  him  some  trifling 
question.  At  the  same  moment  Euphemia  tapped  him 
on  the  arm  with  her  fan,  and  inquired  how  it  happened 
that  she  had  arrived  first. 

He  was  answering  Lady  Sara.  Euphemia  impatiently 
repeated  her  demand,  "How  did  it  happen  that  I  arrived 
first?" 

"I  suppose,  madam,"  replied  he,  smiling,  "because 
you  were  so  fortunate  as  to  set  out  first.  But  had  I  been 
so  happy  as  to  have  preceded  you,  the  message  and 
present  with  which  I  was  honored  would  have  been  faith- 
fully delivered,  and  I  hope  your  ladyship  will  permit  me 
to  do  it  now,"  said  he,  rising  and  taking  Euphemia's  rose 
from  his  button,  as  he  approached  the  countess:  "Miss 
Euphemia  Dundas  had  done  me  the  honor  to  make  me  the 
bearer  of  sweets  to  the  sweet;  and  thus  I  surrender  my 
trust."  He  bowed,  and  put  the  flower  into  Lady  Tine- 
mouth's  hand,  who  smiled  and  thanked  Euphemia.  But 
the  little  beauty  blushed  like  her  own  rose;  and  murmur- 
ing within  herself  at  the  literal  apprehension  of  her 
favorite,  whom  she  thought  as  handsome  as  Cimon,  and 
as  stupid  too,  she  flirted  her  fan,  and  asked  Miss  Egerton 
whether  she  had  read  Charlotte  Smith's  last  delightful 
novel. 

The  evening  passed  off  more  agreeably  to  Thaddeus 
than  he  had  augured  on  his  entrance.  Lady  Sara  always 
embarrassed  and  pained  him;  Miss  Euphemia  teased  him 
to  death;  but  to-night  the  storm  which  had  agitated  the 
breast  of  her  ladyship  having  subsided  into  thoughtfulness, 
it  imparted  so  abstracted  an  air  to  her  ever-lovely  counte- 
nance that,  merely  to  elude  communication  with  Euphe- 
mia, he  remained  near  her,  and  by  paying  those  atten- 
tions which,  ho  situated,  he  could  not  avoid,  he  so  deluded 
>!,,   nM •:. -\,q(\  Lfyiv  Sara  as  to  suMu§  her  melancholy  into 


204  THADDEUS  OF  WAR8A  W. 

an  enchanting  softness  which  to  any  other  man  might 
have  rendered  her  the  most  captivating  woman  on  earth. 

The  only  person  present  who  did  not  approve  of  this 
change  was  Lady  Tinemouth.  At  every  dissolving  smile 
of  her  Circean  ladyship,  she  thought  she  beheld  the  in- 
toxicating cup  at  the  lips  of  Thaddeus,  and  dreaded  its 
effect.  Euphemia  was  too  bnsily  employed  repeating 
some  new  poems,  and  too  intensely  dreaming  of  what  her 
tutor  might  say  on  the  verses  and  medallion  in  his 
possessin,  to  observe  the  dangerous  ascendency  which  the 
superior  charms  of  Lady  Sara  might  acquire  over  his 
heart.  Indeed,  she  had  no  suspicion  of  finding  a  rival  in 
her  ladyship;  and  when  a  servant  announced  the  arrival 
of  her  mother's  coach,  and  she  saw  by  her  watch  that  it 
was  twelve  o'clock,  she  rose  reluctantly,  exclaiming: 

"I  dare  say  some  plaguing  people  have  arrived  who  are 
to  stay  with  us,  else  mamma  would  not  have  sent  for  me 
so  soon." 

"I  call  it  late,"  said  Lady  Sara,  who  would  not  lose  an 
opportunity  of  contradicting  her;  "so  I  will  thank  you, 
Mr.  Constantino,"  addressing  herself  to  him,  "to  hand 
me  to  my  coach  at  the  same  time." 

Euphemia  bit  her  lip  at  this  movement  of  her  ladyship, 
and  followed  her  downstairs,  reddening  with  anger.  Her 
carriage  being  first,  she  was  obliged  to  get  into  it,  but 
would  not  suffer  the  servant  to  close  the  door  until  she 
had  seen  Lady  Sara  seated  in  hers;  and  then  she  called  to 
Mr.  Constantiue  to  speak  with  her. 

Lady  Sara  leaned  her  head  out  of  the  window.  While 
she  saw  the  man  she  loved  approached  Lady  Dundas' 
carriage,  she,  in  her  turn,  bit  her  lips  with  vexation. 

"Home,  my  lady?"  asked  the  servant,  touching  his  hate 

"No;  not  till  Miss  Dundas'  coach  drives  on." 

Miss  Euphemia  desired  Thaddeus  to  step  in  for  a 
moment,  and  he  reluctantly  obeyed. 

"Mr.  Constantine!"  cried  the  pretty  simpleton,  trem- 
bling with  expectation,  as  she  made  room  for  him  beside 
her,  "have  you  opened  the  paper  I  gave  you?" 

"Yes,  madam,"  returned  he,  holding  the  door  open, 
and  widening  it  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  he 
presented  his  note,  "and  I  have  the  honor,  in  that  paper, 
to  have  executed  your  commands." 

Euphemia  caught    it    eagerly ;  and    Thaddeus    imrno- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  205 

diately  leaping  out,  wished  her  a  good-night,  and  hurried 
back  into  the  house.  While  the  carriages  drove  away,  he 
ascended  to  the  drawing-room,  to  take  leave  of  the  count- 
ess. 

Lady  Tine*mouth,  seated  on  the  sofa,  was  leaning 
thoughtfully  against  one  of  its  arms  when  he  reentered. 
He  approached  her. 

"I  wish  you  a  good-night,  Lady  Tinemouth." 

She  turned  her  head. 

"Mr.  Constantine,  I  wish  you  would  stay  a  little  longer 
with  me!  My  spirits  are  disturbed,  and  I  am  afraid  it 
will  be  near  morning  before  Sophia  returns  from  Hich- 
mond.     These  rural  balls  are  sad,  dissipated  amusements !" 

Thaddeus  laid  down  his  hat  and  took  a  seat  by  her  side. 

"I  am  happy,  dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  at  all  times  to  be 
with  you;  bat  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  you  have  met  with 
anything  to  discompose  you.  I  was  afraid  when  I  came 
in  that  something  disagreeable  had  happened;  your 
eyes " 

"Alas!  if  my  eyes  were  always  to  show  when  I  have 
been  weeping,  they  might  ever  be  telling  tales!"  Her 
ladyship  passed  her  hand  across  them,  while  she  added, 
"We  may  think  on  our  sorrows  with  an  outward  air  of 
tranquillity,  but  we  cannot  always  speak  of  them  Avithout 
some  agitation." 

"Ah,  Lady  Tinemouth!"  exclaimed  the  count,  drawing 
closer  to  her;  "could  not  even  your  generous  sympathiz- 
ing heart  escape  calamity?" 

"To  cherish  a  sympathizing  heart,  my  young  friend," 
replied  she,  "is  not  a  very  effectual  way  to  avoid  the 
pressure  of  affliction.  On  the  reverse,  such  a  temper 
extracts  unhappiness  from  causes  which  would  fail  to 
extort  even  a  sigh  from  dispositions  of  less  susceptibility. 
Ideas  of  sensibility  and  sympathy  are  pretty  toys  for  a 
novice  to  play  with;  but  change  those  wooden  swords  into 
weapons  of  real  metal,  and  you  will  find  the  points 
through  your  heart  before  you  are  aware  of  the  danger — 
at  least,  I  find  it  so.  Mr.  Constantine,  I  have  frequently 
promised  to  explain  to  you  the  reason  of  the  sadness 
which  so  often  tinges  my  conversation ;  and  I  know  not 
when  I  shall  be  in  a  fitter  humor  to  indulge  myself  at 
your  expense,  for  I  never  was  more  wretched,  never  stood 
more  in  need  of  the  consolations  of  a  friend." 


206  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

She  covered  her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  and  re- 
mained so  for  some  time.  Thaddeus  pressed  her  hand 
several  times,  and  waited  in  respectful  silence  until  she 
recommenced. 

"Forgive  me,  my  dear  sir;  I  am  very  low  to-night — 
very  nervous.  Having  encountered  two  or  three  distress- 
ing circumstances  to-day,  these  tears  relieve  me.  You 
have  heard  me  speak  of  my  son,  and  of  my  lord;  yet  1 
never  collected  resolution  to  recount  how  we  were  sepa- 
rated. This  morning  I  saw  my  son  pass  my  window;  he 
looked  up;  but  the  moment  I  appeared,  he  turned  away 
and  hastened  down  the  street.  Though  I  have  received 
many  stronger  proofs  of  dislike,  Loth  from  his  father  and 
himself,  yet  slight  as  this  offense  may  seem,  it  pierced  me 
to  the  soul.  Oh,  Mr.  Constantine,  to  know  that  the  child 
to  whom  I  gave  life  regards  me  with  abhorrence,  is  dread- 
ful— is  beyond  even  the  anxious  partiality  of  a  mother 
either  to  excuse  or  to  palliate!" 

"Perhaps,  dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  you  misjudge  Lord 
Harwold ;  he  may  be  under  the  commands  of  his  father, 
and  yet  yearn  to  show  you  his  affection  and  duty." 

"No,  Mr.  Constantine;  your  heart  is  too  good  even  to 
guess  what  may  be  the  guilt  of  another.  Gracious 
Heaven !  am  I  obliged  to  speak  so  of  my  son — he  who  was 
my  darling — he  who  once  loved  me  so  dearly !  But  hear 
me,  my  dear  sir;  you  shall  judge  for  yourself,  and  you 
will  wonder  that  I  am  now  alive  to  endure  more.  I  have 
suffered  by  him,  by  his  father,  and  by  a  dreadful  woman, 
who  not  only  tore  my  husband  and  children  from  me,  but 
stood  by  till  I  was  beaten  to  the  ground.  Yes,  Mr.  Con- 
stantine, any  humane  man  would  shudder  as  you  do  at 
such  an  assertion;  but  it  is  too  true.  Soon  after  Lady 
Olivia  Lovel  became  the  mistress  of  my  lord,  and  per- 
suaded him  to  take  my  son  from  me,  I  heard  that  the 
poor  boy  had  fallen  ill  through  grief,  and  lay  sick  at  his 
lordship's  house  in  Hampshire.  I  heard  he  was  dying, 
knagine  my  agonies.  Wild  with  distress,  I  flew  to  the 
park  lodge,  and,  forgetful  of  anything  but  my  child,  was 
hastening  across  the  park,  when  I  saw  this  woman,  this 
Lady  Olivia,  approaching  me,  followed  by  two  female 
servants.  One  of  them  carried  my  daughter,  then  an 
infant,  in  her  arms;  and  the  other,  a  child  of  which  this 
unnatural  wretch  had  recently  become  the  mother.     I  was 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  g07 

flying  toward  my  little  Albina,  to  clasp  her  to  my  heart, 
when  Lady  Olivia  caught  hold  of  my  arm.  Her  voice 
now  rings  in  my  ears.  'Woman!'  cried  she,  'leave  this 
place;  there  are  none  here  to  whom  you  are  not  an  object 
of  abhorrence.' 

"Struggling  to  break  from  her,  I  implored  to  be  per- 
mitted to  embrace  my  child;  but  she  held  me  fast,  and, 
regardless  of  my  cries,  ordered  both  the  women  to  return 
into  the  house.  Driven  to  despair,  I  dropped  on  my 
knees,  conjuring  her,  by  her  feelings  as  a  mother,  to  allow 
me  for  one  moment  to  see  my  dying  son,  and  that  I  would 
promise,  by  my  hopes  of  everlasting  happiness,  to  cherish 
her  child  as  my  own  should  it  ever  stand  in  need  of  a 
friend.  The  horrid  woman  only  laughed  at  my  prayers, 
and  left  me  in  a  swoon.  When  I  recovered,  the  first 
objects  I  beheld  were  my  lord  and  Lady  Olivia  standing 
near  me,  and  myself  in  the  arms  of  a  man-servant,  whom 
they  had  commanded  to  carry  me  outside  the  gate.  At 
the  sight  of  my  husband,  I  sprang  to  my  feet,  when  with 
one  dreadful  blow  of  his  hand  he  struck  me  to  the  ground. 
Merciful  Providence!  how  did  I  retain  my  senses!  I 
besought  this  cruel  husband  to  give  me  a  second  blow, 
that  I  might  suffer  no  more. 

"  'Take  her  out  of  my  sight,"  cried  he;  "she  is  mad.' 

"I  was  taken  out  of  his  sight,  more  dead  than  alive, 
and  led  by  his  pitying  servants  to  an  inn,  where  I  was 
afterward  confined  for  three  weeks  with  a  brain  fever. 
From  that  hour  I  have  never  had  a  day  of  health." 

Thaddeus  was  shocked  beyond  utterance  at  this  rela- 
tion. The  paleness  of  his  countenance  being  the  only 
reply  he  made  the  anguished  narrator  resumed. 

"I  have  gone  out  of  order.  I  proposed  to  inform  you 
clearly  of  my  situation,  but  the  principal  outrage  of  my 
heart  rose  immediately  to  my  lips.  I  will  comence  regu- 
larly, if  I  can  methodize  my  recollection. 

"The  Earl  of  Tinemouth  married  me  from  passion.  I 
will  not  sanctify  his  emotions  by  the  name  of  affection, 
though,"  added  she,  forcing  a  smile,  "these  faded  fea- 
tures too  plainly  show  that  of  all  mankind,  I  loved  but 
him  alone.  I  was  just  fifteen  when  he  came  to  visit  my 
father,  who  lived  in  Berkshire.  My  father  Mr.  Cumnor, 
and  his  father,  Lord  Harwold,  had  been  friends  at  college. 
My  lord,  then  Mr.   Stanhope,  was  young,  handsome,  and 


208  THA  DDEU8  OF  WA  RSA  W. 

captivating.  He  remained  the  autumn  with  us,  and  at 
the  end  of  that  period  declared  an  affection  for  me  which 
my  heart  too  readily  answered.  About  this  time  he 
received  a  summons  from  his  father,  and  we  parted. 
Like  most  girls  of  my  age,  I  cherished  an  unconquerable 
bashfulness  against  admitting  any  confidant  to  my  attach- 
ment; hence  my  parents  knew  nothing  of  the  affair  until 
it  burst  upon  them  in  the  cruelest  shape. 

"About  two  months  after  Mr.  Stanhope's  departure, 
a  letter  arrived  from  him,  urging  me  to  fly  with  him  to 
Scotland.  He  alleged  as  a  reason  for  such  a  step  that  his 
grandfather,  the  Earl  of  Tinemouth,  insisted  on  his  form- 
ing a  union  with  Lady  Olivia  Lovel,  who  was  then  a 
young  widow,  and  the  favorite  niece  of  the  most  powerful 
nobleman  in  the  kingdom.  Upon  this  demand,  he  con- 
fessed to  the  earl  that  his  affections  were  engaged.  His 
lordship,  whose  passions  were  those  of  a  madman,  broke 
into  such  horrible  execrations  of  myself  and  my  family 
that  Mr.  Stanhope,  himself,  alas!  enraged,  intemperately 
swore  that  no  power  on  earth  should  compel  him  to  marry 
so  notorious  a  woman  as  Lady  Olivia  Lovel,  nor  to  give 
me  up.  After  communicating  these  particulars,  he  con- 
cluded with  repeating  his  entreaties  that  I  would  consent 
to  marry  him  in  Scotland.  The  whole  of  this  letter 
alarmed  me  that  I  showed  it  to  my  parents.  My  father 
answered  it  in  a  manner  befitting  his  own  character;  but 
that  only  irritated  the  impetuous  passion  of  my  lover.  In 
the  paroxysm  of  his  rage,  he  flew  to  the  earl  his  grand- 
father, upbraided  him  with  the  ruin  of  his  happiness,  and 
so  exasperated  the  old  man  that  he  drew  his  sword  upon 
him;  and  had  it  not  been  for  the  interference  of  his 
father,  Lord  Harwold,  who  happened  to  enter  at  the 
moment,  a  most  fatal  catastrophe  might  have  ensued.  To 
end  the  affair  at  once,  the  latter,  whose  gentle  nature  em- 
braced the  mildest  measures,  obtained  the  earl's  permis- 
sion to  send  Mr.  Stanhope  abroad. 

"Meanwhile  I  was  upheld  by  my  revered  parent,  who 
is  now  no  more,  in  firmly  rejecting  my  lover's  entreaties 
for  a  private  marriage.  And  as  his  grandfather  continued 
resolutely  deaf  to  his  prayers  or  threats,  he  was  at  length 
persuaded  by  his  excellent  father  to  accompany  some 
friends  to  France. 

'At  the  end  of  a  few  weeks  Mr.  Stanhope  began  to 


a 


T1TADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  209 

regard  them  as  spies  on  him;  and  after  a  violent  quarrel, 
they  parted,  no  one  knowing  to  what  quarter  my  lover 
directed  his  steps.  I  believe  I  was  the  first  who  heard  any 
tidings  of  him.  I  remember  well;  it  was  in  1773,  about 
four-and-twenty  years  ago,  that  I  received  a  letter  from 
him.  Oh!  how  legibly  are  these  circumstanes  written  071 
my  memory!  It  was  dated  from  Italy,  where,  he  told  me, 
he  resided  in  complete  retirement,  under  the  assumed 
name  of  Sackville." 

At  this  name,  with  every  feature  fixed  in  dismay,  Thad- 
deus  fell  back  on  the  sofa. 

The  countess  caught  his  hand. 

"What  is  the  matter?  You  are  ill?  What  is  the 
matter?" 

The  bolt  of  indelible  disgrace  had  struck  to  his  heart. 
It  was  some  minutes  before  he  could  recover;  but  when 
he  did  speak,  he  said,  "Pray  go  on,  madam;  I  am  subject 
to  this.  Pray  forgive  me,  and  go  on;  I  shall  become 
better  as  you  proceed." 

"No,  my  dear  friend;  I  will  quit  this  dismal  story  at 
present,  and  resume  it  some  other  time." 

"Pray  continue  it  now,"  rejoined  Thaddeus;  "I  shall 
never  be  more  fit  to  listen.     Do,  I  entreat  you." 

"Are  you  sincere  in  your  request?  I  fear  I  have  already 
affected  you  too  much." 

"No;  I  am  sincere;  let  me  hear  it  all.  Do  not  hold 
back  anything  which  relates  to  that  stain  to  the  name  of 
Englishman,  who  completed  his  crimes  by  rendering  you 
Avretched!" 

"Alas!  he  did,"  resumed  her  ladyship;  "for  when  he 
returned,  which  was  in  consequence  of  the  Earl  of  Tine- 
mouth's  death,  my  father  was  also  dead,  who  might  have 
stood  between  me  and  my  inclinations,  and  so  preserved 
me  from  many  succeeding  sorrows.  I  sealed  my  fate,  and 
became  Stanhope's  wife. 

"The  father  of  my  husband  was  then  Earl  of  Tine- 
month;  and  as  he  had  never  been  averse  to  our  union,  he 
presented  me  with  a  cottage  on  the  banks  of  the  Wye, 
where  I  passed  three  delightful  years,  the  happiest  of 
womankind.  My  husband,  my  mother,  and  my  infant 
son  formed  my  felicity;  and  greatly  I  prized  it — too 
greatly  to  be  allowed  a  long  continuance! 

"At  the  end  of  this  period,  some  gay  friends  paid  us  a 


210  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

visit.  "When  they  returned  to  town,  they  persuaded  my 
lord  to  be  of  the  party.  He  went;  and  from  that  fatal 
day  all  my  sufferings  arose. 

"Lord  Harwold,  instead  of  being  with  me  in  a  fort- 
night, as  he  had  promised,  procrastinated  his  absence 
under  various  excuses  from  week  to  week,  during  which 
interval  my  Albina  was  born.  Day  after  day  I  anticipated 
the  delight  of  putting  her  into  the  arms  of  her  father; 
but,  what  a  chasm !  she  was  three  months  old  before  he 
appeared;  and  ah!  how  changed.  He  was  gloomy  to  me, 
uncivil  to  my  mother,  and  hardly  looked  at  the  child." 

Lady  Tinemouth  stopped  at  this  part  of  her  narrative 
to  wipe  away  her  tears.  Thaddeus  was  sitting  forward  to 
the  table,  leaning  on  his  arm,  with  his  hand  covering  his 
face.  The  countess  was  grateful  for  an  excess  of  sym- 
pathy she  did  not  expect;  and  taking  his  other  hand,  as 
it  lay  motionless  on  his  knee,  "What  a  consolation  would 
it  be  to  me,"  exclaimed  she,  "durst  I  entertain  a  hope 
that  I  may  one  day  behold  but  half  such  pity  from  my 
own  son!" 

Thaddeus  pressed  her  hand.  He  did  not  venture  to 
reply;  he  could  not  tell  her  that  she  deceived  herself  even 
here;  that  it  was  not  her  sorrows  only  which  so  affected 
him,  but  the  remembered  agonies  of  his  own  mother, 
whom  he  did  not  doubt  the  capricious  villainy  of  this  very 
earl,  under  the  name  of  Sackville  (a  name  that  had  struck 
like  a  death-bolt  to  the  heart  of  Thaddeus  when  he  first 
heard  his  mother  utter  it),  had  devoted  to  a  life  of  uncom- 
plaining but  ceaseles  self-reproach.  And  had  he  derived 
his  existence  from  such  a  man — the  reprobate  husband  of 
Lady  Tinemouth !  The  conviction  humbled  him,  crushed 
him,  and  trod  him  to  the  earth.  He  did  not  look  up,  and 
the  countess  resumed: 

"It  would  be  impossible,  my  dear  sir,  to  describe  to  you 
the  gradual  changes  which  assured  me  that  I  had  lost  the 
heart  of  my  husband.  Before  the  end  of  the  winter  he 
left  me  again,  and  I  saw  him  no  more  until  that  frightful 
hour  in  which  he  struck  me  to  'the  ground. 

"The  good  earl  came  into  Monmouthshire  about  six 
weeks  after  I  parted  with  my  lord.  I  was  surprised  and 
rejoiced  to  see  my  kind  father-in-law;  but  how  soon  were 
my  emotions  driven  into  a  different  course!  He  revealed 
to  me  that  during  Lord  Harwold  's  first  visit  to  town  he 


THADDEU6  OF  WARSAW.  211 

had  been  in  the  habit  of  spending  entire  evenings  with 
Lady  Olivia  Lovel. 

"  '  This  woman,'  added  he,  'is  the  most  artful  of  her 
sex.  In  spite  of  her  acknowledged  dishonor,  you  well 
know  my  deceased  father  would  gladly  have  married  her 
to  my  son;  and  now  it  seems,  actuated  by  revenge,  she 
resents  Lord  Harwold's  refusal  of  her  hand  by  seducing 
him  from  his  wife.  Alas !  I  am  too  well  convinced  that 
the  errors  of  my  son  bear  too  strict  a  resemblance  to  those 
of  his  grandfather.  Vain  of  his  superior  abilities,  and 
impatient  of  contradiction,  flattery  can  mold  him  to 
what  it  pleases.  Lady  Olivia  had  discovered  these  weak 
points  in  his  character;  and,  I  am  informed,  she  soon 
persuaded  him  that  yon  impose  on  his  affection  by  detain- 
ing him  from  the  world;  and,  seconded  by  other  fascina- 
tions, my  deluded  son  has  accompanied  her  into  Spain.' 

"You  may  imagine,  Mr.  Constantine,  my  distraction  at 
this  intelligence.  I  was  like  one  lost;  and  the  venerable 
earl,  fearing  to  trust  me  in  such  despair  out  of  his  sight, 
brought  me  and  my  children  with  him  to  London.  In  less 
than  four  months  afterward,  I  was  deprivedof  this  inesti- 
mable friend  by  a  paralytic  stroke.  His  death  summoned 
the  new  earl  to  England.  While  I  lay  on  a  sick  bed,  into 
which  I  had  been  thrown  by  the  shock  of  my  protector's 
death,  my  lord  and  his  mistress  arrived  in  London. 

"They'  immediately  assumed  the  command  of  my  la- 
mented father-in  law's  house,  and  ordered  my  mother  to 
clear  it  directly  of  me.  My  heart-broken  parent  obeyed, 
and  I  was  carried  in  a  senseless  state  to  a  lodging  in  the 
nearest  street.  But  when  this  dear  mother  returned  for 
my  children,  neither  of  them  were  permitted  to  see  her. 
The  malignant  Lady  Olivia,  actuated  by  an  insatiable 
hatred  of  me,  easily  wrought  on  my  frantic  husband  (for 
I  must  believe  him  mad)  to  detain  them  entirely.  A 
short  time  after  this,  that  dreadful  scene  happened  which 
I  have  before  described. 

"Year  succeeded  year^  during  which  time  I  received 
many  cruel  insults  from  my  husband,  many  horrible  ones 
from  my  son;  for  I  had  been  advised  to  institute  a  suit 
against  my  lord,  in  which  I  only  pleaded  for  the  return  of 
my  children.  I  lost  my  cause,  owing,  I  hope,  to  bad 
counsel,  not  the  laws  of  my  country.  I  was  adjudged  to 
be  separated  from  the  earl,  with  a  maintenance  of  six 


212  THADDEU8  OF  WARSA  W. 

hundred  a  year,  which  he  hardly  pays.  I  Avas  tied  down 
never  to  speak  to  him,  nor  to  his  son  nor  his  daughter. 
Though  this  sentence  was  passed,  I  never  acknowledged 
its  justice,  but  wrote  several  times  to  my  children.  Lord 
Harwold,  who  is  too  deeply  infected  with  his  father's 
cruelty,  has  either  returned  my  letters  unopened  or  with 
insulting  replies.  For  my  daughter,  she  keeps  an  un- 
deviating  silence;  and  I  have  not  even  seen  her  since  the 
moment  in  which  she  was  hurried  from  my  eyea  in  Tine- 
mouth  Park. 

"In  vain  her  brother  tries  to  convince  me  that  she  de- 
tests me.  I  will  not  believe  it;  and  the  hope  that,  should 
I  survive  her  father,  I  may  yet  embrace  my  child,  has 
been,  and  will  be,  my  source  of  maternal  comfort  until  it 
be  fulfilled,  or  I  bury  my  disappointment  in  the  grave." 

Lady  Tinemouth  put  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes, 
which  were  again  flowing  with  tears.  Thaddeus  thought 
he  must  speak,  if  he  would  not  betray  an  interest  in  her 
narrative,  which  he  determined  no  circumstance  should 
ever  humbli  him  to  reveal.  Raising  his  head  from  his 
hand,  he  unconsciously  discovered  to  the  countess  his 
agonized  countenance. 

"Kind,  affectionate  Constantine!  surely  such  a  heart 
as  thine  never  would  bring  sorrow  to  the  breast  of  a  vir- 
tuous husband !  You  could  never  betray  the  self-deluded 
Lady  Sara  to  any  fatal  error !" 

Lady  Tinemouth  did  not  utter  these  thoughts.  Thad- 
deus rose  from  his  seat. 

"Farewell,  my  honored  friend!"  said  he;  "may  Heaven 
bless  you  and  pardon  your  husband!" 

Then  grasping  hex*  hand,  with  what  he  intended  should 
be  a  pressure  of  friendship,  but  which  his  internal  tor- 
tures rendered  almost  intolerable,  he  hastened  downstairs, 
opened  the  outward  door,  and  got  into  the  street. 

Unknowing  and  heedless  whither  he  went,  with  the 
steps  of  a  man  driven  by  the  furies,  he  traversed  one 
street  and  then  another.  As  he  went  along,  in  vain  the 
watchmen  reminded  him  by  their  cries  that  it  was  past 
three  o'clock:  he  still  wandered  on,  forgetting  that  it  was 
night,  that  he  had  any  home,  any  destination. 

His  father  was  discovered — that  father  of  whom  he  had 
entertained  a  latent  hope,  should  they  ever  meet,  that  he 
might  produce  some  excuse  for  having  been  betrayed  into 


T8A DD  ED'S  OF  WAUSA  W.  213 

an  act  disgraceful  to  a  man  of  honor.  But  when  all  these 
filial  dreams  were  blasted  by  the  conviction  that  he  owed 
his  being  to  the  husband  of  Lady  Tinemouth,  that  his 
mother  was  the  victim  of  a  profligate,  that  he  had  sprung 
from  a  man  who  was  not  merely  a  villain,  but  the  most 
wanton,  the  most  despicable  of  villains,  he  saw  himself 
bereft  of  hope  and  overwhelmed  with  shame  and  horror. 

Full  of  reflections  which  none  other  than  a  son  in  such 
circumstances  can  conceive,  he  was  lost  amid  the  obscure 
alleys  of  Tottenham  Court  Yard,  when  loud  and  frequent 
cries  recalled  his  attention.  A  quantity  of  smoke,  with 
flashes  of  light,  led  him  to  suppose  that  they  were  occa- 
sioned by  a  fire;  and  a  few  steps  further  the  awful  spec- 
tacle burst  upon  his  sight. 

It  was  a  house  from  the  windows  of  which  the  flames 
were  breaking  out  in  every  direction,  while  a  gathering 
concourse  of  people  were  either  standing  in  stupefied 
astonishment  or  uselessly  shouting  for  engines  and  assist- 
ance. 

At  the  moment  in  which  he  arrived,  two  or  three  naked 
wretches,  just  escaped  from  their  beds,  were  flying  from 
side  -to  side,  making  the  air  echo  with  their  shrieks. 

"Will  nobody  save  my  children?"  cried  one  of  them, 
approaching  Thaddeus,  and  wringing  her  hands  in  agony; 
"will  nobody  take  them  from  the  fire?" 

"Where  shall  I  seek  them?"  replied  he. 

"Oh,  in  that  room,"  exclaimed  she,  pointing;  "the 
flames  are  already  there;  they  will  be  burned!  they  will 
be  burned!" 

The  poor  woman  was  hurrying  madly  forward,  when 
the  count  stopped  her,  and  giving  her  in  charge  of  a  by- 
stander, cried:  "Take  care  of  this  woman;  if  possible,  I 
will  save  her  children."  Darting  through  the  open  door, 
in  defiance  of  the  smoke  and  danger,  he  made  his  way  to 
the  children's  room,  where,  almost  suffocated  by  the  sul- 
phurous cloud  that  surrounded  him,  he  at  last  found  the 
bed;  but  it  contained  one  child  only.  This  he  instantly 
caught  up  in  his  arms,  and  was  hastening  down  the  stairs, 
when  the  cries  of  the  other  from  a  distant  part  of  the 
building  made  him  hesitate;  but  thinking  it  better  to 
secure  one  than  to  hazard  both  by  lingering,  he  rushed 
into  the  street  just  as  a  post-chaise  had  stopped  to  inquire 
the  particulars  of  the  accident.     The  carriage  door  being 


214  THADDEUS  OP  WAK8A  W 

open,  Thaddens,  seeing  ladies  in  it,  without  saying  a 
word,  threw  the  sleeping  infant  into  their  laps,  and 
hastened  back  into  the  house,  where  he  hoped  to  rescue 
the  other  child  before  the  fire  could  increase  to  warrant 
despair. 

The  flames  having  now  made  dreadful  progress,  his 
face,  hands,  and  clothes  were  scorched  by  their  fury  as  he 
flew  from  the  room,  following  the  shrieks  of  the  child, 
who  seemed  to  change  its  situation  with  every  exertion 
that  he  made  to  reach  it.  At  length,  when  every  moment 
he  expected  the  house  would  sink  under  his  feet,  as  a  last 
attempt  he  directed  his  steps  along  a  passage  he  had  not 
before  observed,  and  to  his  great  joy  beheld  the  object  of 
his  search  flying  down  a  back  staircase.  The  boy  sprang 
into  his  arms;  and  Thaddeus,  turning  round,  leaped  from 
one  landing-place  to  another,  until  he  found  himself  again 
in  the  street,  surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  people. 

He  saw  the  poor  mother  clasp  this  second  rescued  child 
to  her  breast;  and  while  the  spectators  were  loading  her 
with  congratulations,  he  slipped  away  unseen,  and  pro- 
ceeded homeward,  with  a  warmth  at  his  heart  which 
made  him  forget,  in  the  joy  of  a  benevolent  action,  that 
petrifying  shock  which  had  been  occasioned  by  the  vices 
of  one  too  nearly  allied  to  his  being  to  be  hated  without 
horror. 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

THE  KINDREDSHIP  OP  MINDS. 

When  Thaddeus  awoke  next  morning,  he  found  him- 
self more  refreshed  and  freer  from  the  effects  of  the  last 
night's  discovery  than  he  could  have  reasonably  hoped. 
The  presence  of  mind  and  activity  which  the  fire  called 
on  him  to  exert,  having  forced  his  thoughts  into  a  differ- 
ent channel,  had  afforded  his  nerves  an  opportunity  to 
regain  some  portion  of  their  usual  strength.  He  could 
now  reflect  on  what  he  had  heard  without  suffering  the 
crimes  of  another  to  lay  him  on  the  rack.  The  reins  were 
again  restored  to  his  hand,  and  neither  agitation  nor 
anxiety  showed  themselves  in  his  face  or  manner. 

Though  the  count's  sensibility  was  very  irritable,  and 


TBADDEU8  OP  WARSAW.  215 

when  suddenly  excited  he  could  not  always  conceal  his 
emotion,  yet  he  possessed  a  power  of  look  which  imme- 
diately repressed  the  impertinence  of  curiosity  or  inso- 
lence. Indeed,  this  mantle  of  repulsion  proved  to  be  his 
best  shield;  for  never  had  man  more  demands  on  the 
dignity  of  his  soul  to  shine  out  about  his  person. 

Not  infrequently  had  his  sudden  appearance  in  the 
study-room  at  Lady  Dnndas'  at  once  called  a  natural  glow 
through  the  ladies'  rouge,  and  silenced  the  gentlemen, 
when  he  has  happened  to  enter  while  Miss  Dundas  and 
half  a  dozen  other  beaux  and  belles  have  been  ridiculing 
Euphemia  on  the  absurd  civilities  she  paid  to  her  language- 
master  ! 

The  morning  after  the  fire,  a  little  bevy  of  these  fash- 
ionable butterflies  were  collected  in  this  way  at  one  corner 
of  Miss  Dundas'  Hercules  table,  when,  during  a  moment's 
pause,  "I  hope,  Miss  Beaufort,"  cried  the  Honorable  Mr. 
Lascelles,  "I  hope  you  don't  intend  to  consume  the 
brightness  of  your  eyes  over  this  stupid  language?" 

"What  language,  Mr.  Lascelles?"  inquired  she;  "I 
have  this  moment  entered  the  room,  and  I  don't  know 
what  you  are  talking  about." 

"Good  Lud!  that  is  very  true,"  cried  he;  ';I  mean  a 
shocking  jargon,  which  a  shocking  penseroso  man  teaches 
to  these  ladies.  We  want  to  persuade  Miss  Euphemia 
that  it  spoils  her  mouth." 

"You  are  always  misconceiving  me,  Mr.  Lascelles,,,  in- 
terrupted Miss  Dundas  impatiently;  "I  did  not  advance 
one  word  against  the  language;  I  merely  remonstrated 
with  Phemy  against  her  preposterous  attentions  to  the 
man  we  hire  to  teach  it." 

"That  was  what  I  meant,  madam,"  resumed  he,  with  a 
low  bow. 

"You  meant  what,  sir?"  demanded  the  little  beauty 
contemptuously;  "but  I  need  not  ask.  You  are  like  a 
bad  mirror,  which  from  radical  defect  always  gives  false 
reflections." 

"Very  good,  faith,  Miss  Euphemia!  I  declare,  sterling 
wit!     It  would  honor  Sheridan,  or  your  sister." 

"Mr.  Lascelles,"  cried  Euphemia,  more  vexed  than  be- 
fore, "let  me  tell  you  such  impertinence  is  very  unbecom- 
ing a  gentleman." 

"Upon  my  soul,  Miss  Euphemia!" 


216  TRA1WEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"Pray  allow  the  petulant  young  lady  to  get  out  of  hei 
airs,  as  she  has,  I  believe,  got  out  of  her  senses,  without 
our  help!"  exclaimed  Miss  Dundas;  "for  I  declare  I  knott 
not  where  she  picked  up  these  vile  democratic  ideas." 

'"I  am  not  a  democrat,  Diana,"  answered  Euphemia, 
rising  from  her  seat;  "and  I  won't  stay  to  be  abused, 
when  I  know  it  is  all  envy,  because  Mr.  Constantine  hap- 
pened to  say  that  I  have  a  quicker  memory  than  you 
have." 

She  left  the  room  as  she  ended.  Miss  Dundas,  ready  to 
storm  with  passion,  but  striving  to  conceal  it,  burst  into  a 
violent  laugh,  and  turning  to  Miss  Beaufort,  said:  "You 
now  see,  my  dear  Mary,  a'  sad  specimen  of  Euphemia's 
temper;  yet  I  hope  you  won't  think  too  severely  of  her, 
for,  poor  thing,  she  has  been  spoiled  by  us  all." 

"Pray,  do  not  apologize  tome  in  particular!"  replied 
Miss  Beaufort;  "but,  to  be  frank,  I  think  it  probable  she 
would  have  shown  her  temper  less  had  that  little  admoni- 
tion been  given  in  private.  I  doubt  not  she  has  com- 
mitted something  wrong,  yet " 

"Yes,  something  very  wrong,"  interrupted  Miss  Dun- 
das, reddening  at  this  rebuke;  "both  Mr.  Lascelles  and 
Lord  Berrington  there " 

"Don't  bring  in  my  name,  I  pray,  Miss  Dundas,"  cried 
the  viscount,  who  was  looking  over  an  old  edition  of  Mas- 
singer's  plays;  "you  know  I  hate  being  squeezed  into 
squabbles." 

Miss  Dundas  dropped  the  corners  of  her  mouth  in  con- 
tempt, and  went  on. 

"Well,  then,  Mr.  Lascelles  and  Miss  Poyntz,  here,  have 
both  at  different  times  been  present  when  Phemy  has  con- 
ducted herself  in  a  very  ridiculous  way  toward  a  young 
man  Lady  Tinemouth  sent  here  to  teach  us  German.  Can 
you  believe  it  possible  that,  a  girl  of  her  fashion  could  be- 
have in  this  style  without  having  first  imbibed  some  very 
dangerous  notions?  I  am  sure  I  am  right,  for  she  could 
not  be  more  civil  to  him  if  he  were  a  gentleman."  Miss 
Dundas  supposed  she  had  now  set  the  affair  beyond  con- 
troversy, and  stopped  with  an  air  of  triumph.  Miss  Beau- 
fort perceived  that  her  answer  was  expected. 

"I  really  cannot  discover  anything  in  the  matter  so  very 
reprehensible,"  replied  sbe.  "Perhaps  the  person  you 
speak  of  may  have  the  qualifications  of  a  gentleman \  he 
may  be  above  his  situation." 


THADDEITS  OF  WARS  A  W.  217 

"Ah!  above  it,  sure  enough!"  cried  Lascelles,  laugh- 
ing boisterously  at  his  own  folly.  "He  is  tall  enough  to  be 
above  everything,  even  good  manners;  for  notwithstand- 
ing his  plebeian  calling,  I  find  he  doesn't  know  how  to 
keep  his  distance." 

"I  am  sorry  for  that,  Lascelles,"  cried  Berrington, 
measuring  the  puppy  with  his  good-natured  eye;  "for 
these  Magog  men  are  terrible  objects  to  us  of  meaner 
dimensions!  'A  substitute  shines  brightly  as  a  king  until 
a  king  be  by.'  " 

"Why,  my  lord,  you  do  not  mean  to  compare  me  with 
such  a  low  fellow  as  this?  I  don't  understand,  Lord  Ber- 
rington  " 

"Bless  me,  gentlemen!"  cried  Miss  Dundas,  frightened 
at  the  angry  looks  of  the  little  honorable;  "why,  my 
lord,  I  thought  you  hated  squabbles?" 

"So  I  do,  Miss  Dundas,"  replied  he,  laying  down  his 
book  and  coming  forward;  "and  upon  my  honor,  Mr. 
Lascelles,"  added  he,  smiling,  and  turning  toward  the 
coxcomb,  who  stood  nidging  his  head  with  anger  by  Miss 
Beaufort's  chair,  "upon  my  honor,  Mr.  Lascelles,  I  did 
not  mean  to  draw  any  parallel  between  your  person  and 
talents  and  those  of  this  Mr. — I  forget  his  name,  for 
truly  I  never  saw  him  in  my  life;  but  I  dare  swear  no 
comparison  can  exist  between  you." 

Lascelles  took  the  surface  of  this  speech,  and  bowed, 
while  his  lordship,  turning  to  Miss  Beaufort,  began  to 
compliment  himself  on  possessing  so  fair  an  ally  in  defense 
of  an  absent  person. 

"I  never  have  seen  him,"  replied  she;  "and  what  is 
more,  I  never  heard  of  him,  till  on  entering  the  room  Mr. 
Lascelles  arrested  me  for  my  opinion  about  him.  I  only 
arrived  from  the  country  last  night,  and  can  have  no  guess 
at  the  real  grounds  of  this  ill-judged  bustle  of  Miss  Dun- 
das' regarding  a  man  she  styles  despicable.  If  he  be  so, 
why  retain  him  in  her  service?  and,  what  is  more  absurd, 
why  make  a  person  in  that  subordinate  situation  the  sub- 
ject of  debate  among  her  friends?" 

"You  are  right,  Miss  Beaufort,"  returned  Lord  Ber- 
rington; "but  the  eloquent  Miss  Dundas  is  so  condescend- 
ing to  her  friends,  she  lets  no  opportunity  slip  of  display- 
ing her  scepter,  both  over  the  republic  of  words  and  the 
empire  of  her  mother's  family." 


218  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"Are  not  yon  severe  now,  Lord  Berrington?  I  thought 
you  generous  to  the  poor  tutor!" 

"No;  I  hope  I  am  just  on  both  subjects.  I  know  the 
lady,  and  it  is  true  that  I  have  seen  nothing  of  the  tutor; 
but  it  is  natural  to  wield  the  sword  in  favor  of  the  defense- 
less, and  I  alwaays  consider  the  absent  in  that  light." 

While  these  two  conversed  at  one  end  of  the  room,  the 
other  group  were  arraigning  the  presumption  of  the  vul- 
gar, and  the  folly  of  those  who  gave  it  encouragement. 
'  At  a  fresh  burst  of  laughter  from  Miss  Dundas,  Miss 
Beaufort  mechanically  turned  her  head;  her  eye  was 
arrested  by  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman  in  black,  who 
was  standing  a  few  paces  within  the  door.  He  was  re- 
garding the  party  before  him  with  that  loftly  tranquillity 
which  is  inseparable  from  high  rank,  when  accompanied 
by  a  consciousness  of  as  high  inward  qualities.  His  figure, 
his  face,  and  his  air  contained  that  pure  simplicity  of  con- 
tour which  portrays  all  the  graces  of  youth  with  the  dig- 
nity of  manhood. 

Miss  Beaufort  in  a  moment  perceived  that  he  was  unob- 
served; rising  from  her  seat,  she  said,  "Miss  Dundas,  here 
is  a  gentleman." 

Miss  Dundas  looked  round  carelessly. 
"You  may  sit  down,  Mr.  Constantine." 
"Is  it  possible!"    thought   Miss  Beaufort,  as  he  ap- 
proached, and  the  ingenuous  expression  of  his  fine  coun- 
tenance was  directed  toward  her,  "can  this  noble  creature 
have  been  the  subject  of  such  impertinence!" 

"I  commend  little  Phemy's  taste!"  whispered  Lord 
Berrington,  leaving  his  seat.  "Ha!  Miss  Beaufort,  a 
young  Apollo?" 

"And  not  in  disguise!"  replied  she  in  the  same  man- 
ner, just  as  Thaddeus  had  bowed  to  her,  and,  with  "veiled 
lids,"  was  taking  up  a  book  from  the  table:  not  to  read, 
but  literally  to  have  an  object  to  look  on  which  could  not 

insult  him.  «,,•..  j 

"What  did  Miss  Dundas  say  was  his  name?"  whispered 

the  viscount. 

"Constantine,  I  think." 

"Mr.  Constantine,"  said  the  benevolent  Berrington, 
"will  you  accept  this  chair?" 

Thaddeus  declined  it.  But  the  viscount  read  in  the 
"proud   humility"  of  his  bow  that  he  had   not  always 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  219 

waited,  a  dependent,  on  the  nods  of  insolent  men  and 
ladies  of  fashion;  and,  with  a  good-hnmored  compulsion, 
he  added,  "pray  oblige  me,  for  by  that  means  I  shall  have 
an  excuse  to  squeeze  into  the  Sultane,  Avhich  is  so  'happy 
as  to  bear  the  weight  of  Beaufort!'  " 

Though  Miss  Beaufort  was  almost  a  stranger  to  his  lord- 
ship, having  seen  him  only  once  before,  with  her  cousin 
in  Leicestershire,  she  smiled  at  this  unexpected  gallantry, 
and  in  consideration  of  the  motive,  made  room  for  him  on 
the  sofa. 

Offeuse  was  not  swifter  than  kindness  in  its  passage  to 
the  heart  of  Thaddeus,  who,  while  he  received  the  vis- 
count's chair,  raised  his  face  toward  him  with  a  look 
beaming  such  graciousness  and  obligation  that  Miss  Beau- 
fort turned  with  a  renewed  glance  of  contempt  on  the 
party.     The  next  instant  they  left  the  study. 

The  instant  Miss  Dundas  closed  the  door  after  her,  Lord 
Berrington  exclaimed,  "Upon  my  honor,  Mr.  Constantine, 
I  have  a  good  mind  to  put  that  terrible  pupil  of  yours  into 
my  next  comedy !  Don't  you  think  she  would  beat  Katha- 
rine and  Petruchio  all  to  nothing?  I  declare  I  will  have 
her." 

"In  propria  persona,  I  hope?"  asked  Miss  Beaufort, 
with  a  playful  smile.  Lord  Berrington  answered  with  a 
gay  sally  from  Shakespeare. 

The  count  remained  silent  during  these  remarks,  though 
he  fully  appreciated  the  first  civil  treatment  which  had 
greeted  him  since  his  admission  within  the  doors  of  Lady 
Dundas.  Miss  Euphemia's  attentions  owned  any  other 
source  than  benevolence. 

Miss  Beaufort  wished  to  relieve  his  embarrassment  by 
addressing  him ;  but  the  more  she  thought,  the  less  she 
knew  what  to  say ;  and  she  had  just  abandoned  it  as  a 
vain  attempt,  when  Euphemia  entered  the  room  alone. 
She  courtesied  to  Thaddeus,  and  took  her  plaoe  at  the 
table.     Lord  Berrington  rose. 

"I  must  say  good -by,  Miss  Euphemia;  I  will  not  dis- 
turb your  studies.  Farewell,  Miss  Beaufort!"  added  he, 
addressing  her,  and  bending  his  lips  to  her  hand.  "Adieu ! 
I  shall  look  in  upon  you  to-morrow.  Good-morning,  Mr. 
Constantine!" 

Thaddeus  bowed  to  him,  and  the  viscount  disappeared. 

"I  am   surprised,  Miss  Beaufort,"  observed  Euphemia 


220  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

pettishly   (her  temper  not    having    subsided    since    her 
sister's  lecture),  "how  you  can  endure  that  coxcomb!" 

"Pardon  me,  Euphemia,"  replied  she;  "though  I  did 
not  exactly  expect  the  ceremony  his  lordship  adopts  in 
taking  leave,  yet  I  think  there  is  a  generosity  in  his  senti- 
ments which  deserves  a  better  title." 

"I  know  nothing  about  his  sentiments,  for  I  always  run 
away  from  his  conversation.  A  better  title!  I  declare 
you  make  me  laugh.  Did  yon  ever  see  such  fantastical 
dressing?'  I  vow  I  never  meet  him  without  thinking  of 
Jemmy  Jessamy,  and  the  rest  of  the  gossamer  beaux  who 
squired  our  grandmothers!" 

"My  acquaintance  with  Lord  Berrington  is  trifling," 
returned  Miss  Beaufort,  withdrawing  her  eyes  from  the 
pensive  features  of  the  count,  who  was  sorting  the  lessons; 
"yet  I  am  so  far  prepossessed  in  his  favor,  that  I  see  little 
in  his  appearance  to  reprehend.  However,  I  will  not  con- 
test that  point,  as  perhaps  the  philanthropy  I  this  morn- 
ing discovered  in  his  heart,  the  honest  warmth  with  which 
he  defended  an  absent  character,  after  you  left  the  room, 
might  render  his  person  as  charming  in  my  eyes  as  I  cer- 
tainly found  his  mind." 

Thaddeus  had  not  for  a  long  time  heard  such  sentiments 
out  of  Lady  Tinemouth's  circle;  and  he  now  looked  up  to 
take  a  distinct  view  of  the  speaker. 

In  consequence  of  the  established  mode,  that  the  presid- 
ing lady  of  the  house  is  to  give  the  tone  to  her  guests, 
many  were  the  visitors  of  Miss  Dundas  whose  faces  Thad- 
deus was  as  ignorant  of  when  they  went  out  of  the  library 
as  when  they  came  in.  They  took  little  notice  of  him; 
and  he,  regarding  them  much  less,  pursued  his  occupa- 
tion without  evincing  a  greater  consciousness  of  their  pres- 
ence than  what  mere  ceremony  demanded. 

Accordingly,  when  in  compliance  with  Lord  Berring- 
ton's  politeness  he  received  his  chair,  and  saw  him  remove 
to  a  sofa  beside  a  very  beautiful  woman,  in  the  bloom  of 
youth,  Thaddeus  supposed  her  manner  might  resemble 
the  rest  of  Miss  Dundas'  friend's,  and  never  directed  his 
glance  a  second  time  to  her  figure.  But  when  he  heard 
her  (in  a  voice  that  was  melody  itself)  defend  his  lordship's 
character,  on  principles  which  bore  the  most  honorable 
testimony  to  her  own,  his  eyes  were  riveted  on  her  face. 

Though  a  large  Turkish  shawl  involved  her  fine  person, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  221 

a  modest  grace  was  observable  in  its  every  turn.  Her  ex- 
quisitely molded  arm,  rather  veiled  than  concealed  by  the 
muslin  sleeve  that  covered  it,  was  extended  in  the  gentle 
energy  of  her  vindication.  Her  lucid  eyes  shone  with  a 
sincere  benevolence,  and  her  lips  seemed  to  breathe  balm 
while  she  spoke.  His  soul  startled  within  itself  as  if  by 
some  strange  recognition  that  agitated  him,  and  drew  him 
inexplicably  toward  its  object.  It  was  not  the  beauty  he 
beheld,  nor  the  words  she  uttered,  but  he  did  not  with- 
draw his  fixed  gaze  until  it  encountered  an  accidental 
turn  of  her  eyes,  which  instantly  retreated  with  a  deep 
blush  mantling  her  face  and  neck.  She  had  never  met 
such  a  look  before,  except  in  an  occasional  penetrating 
glance  from  an  only  cousin,  who  had  long  watched  the 
movements  of  her  heart  with  a  brother's  care. 

But  little  did  Thaddeus  think  at  that  time  who  she  was, 
and  how  nearly  connected  with  that  friend  whose  neglect 
has  been  a  venomed  shaft  unto  his  soul! 

Mary  Beaufort  was  the  orphan  heiress  of  Admiral  Beau- 
fort, one  of  the  most  distinguished  officers  in  the  British 
navy.  He  was  the  only  brother  of  the  now  lamented  Lady 
Somerset,  the  beloved  mother  of  Pembroke  Somerset,  so 
often  the  eloquent  subject  of  his  discourse  in  the  sympa- 
thizing ear  of  Thaddeus  Sobieski!  The  admiral  and  his 
wife,  a  person  also  of  high  quality,  died  within  a  few 
months  after  the  birth  of  their  only  child,  a  daughter, 
having  bequeathed  her  to  the  care  of  her  paternal  aunt, 
and  to  the  sole  guardianship  of  that  exemplary  lady's  uni- 
versally honored  husband,  Sir  Bobert  Somerset,  baronet, 
and  M.  P.  for  the  county.  When  Lady  Somerset's  death 
spread  mourning  throughout  his,  till  then,  happy  home 
(which  unforeseen  event  occurred  hardly  a  week  before 
her  devoted  son  returned  from  the  shores  of  the  Baltic),  a 
double  portion  of  Sir  Bobert's  tenderness  fell  upon  her 
cherished  niece.  In  her  society  alone  he  found  any  conso- 
lation for  his  loss.  And  soon  after  Pembroke's  arrival, 
his  widowed  father,  relinquishing  the  splendid  scenes  of 
his  former  life  in  London,  retired  into  the  country,  some- 
times residing  at  one  family  seat,  sometimes  at  another, 
hoping  by  change  of  place  to  obtain  some  alleviating  diver- 
sion from  his  ever  sorrow-centered  thoughts. 

Sir  Robert  Somerset,  from  the  time  of  his  marriage  with 
the  accomplished  sister  of  Admiral  Beaufort  to  the  hour 


222  THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW. 

in  which  he  followed  her  to  the  grave,  was  regarded  aa 
the  most  admired  man  in  every  circle,  and  yet  more  pub- 
licly respected  as  being  the  magnificent  host  and  most 
munificent  patron  of  talent,  particularly  of  British  growth, 
in  the  whole  land.  Besides,  by  his  own  genius  as  a  states- 
man, he  often  stood  a  tower  of  strength  in  the  senate  of 
his  country;  and  his  general  probity  was  of  such  a  stamp 
that  his  private  friends  were  all  solicitous  to  acquire  the 
protection  of  his  name  over  any  important  trusted  interests 
for  their  families.  For  instance,  the  excellent  Lord  Avon 
consigned  his  only  child  to  his  guardianship,  and  his 
wealthy  neighbor,  Sir  Hector  Dundas,  made  him  sole 
trustee  over  the  immense  fortunes  of  his  daughters. 

This  latter  circumstance  explains  the  intimacy  between 
two  families,  the  female  parts  of  which  might  otherwise 
have  probably  seldom  met. 

On  Sir  Robert  Somerset's  last  transient  visit  to  London 
(which  had  been  only  on  a  call  of  business,  on  account  of 
his  minor  charge,  Lord  Avon),  Lady  Dundas  became  so 
urgent  in  requesting  him  to  permit  Miss  Beaufort  to  pass 
the  ensuing  season  with  her  in  town,  that  he  could  not, 
without  rudeness,  refuse.  In  compliance  with  this  arrange- 
ment, the  gentle  Mary,  accompanied  by  Miss  Dorothy 
Somerset,  a  maiden  sister  of  the  baronet's,  quitted  Deer- 
hurst  to  settle  themselves  with  her  importunate  ladyship 
in  Harley  Street  for  the  remainder  of  the  winter — at  least 
the  winter  of  fashion;  which,  by  a  strange  effect  of  her 
magic  wand,  in  defiance  of  grassy  meadows,  leafy  trees, 
and  sweetly  scented  flowers,  extends  its  nominal  scepter 
over  the  vernal  months  of  April,  May,  and  even  the  rich 
treasures  of  "resplendent  June." 

The  summer  part  of  this  winter  Miss  Beaufort  reluc- 
tantly consented  should  be  sacrificed  to  ceremony,  in  the 
dust  and  heat  of  a  great  city;  and  if  the  melancholy 
which  daily  increased  upon  Sir  Robert  since  the  death  of 
his  wife  had  not  rendered  her  averse  to  oppose  his  wishes, 
she  certainly  would  have  made  objections  to  the  visit. 

During  the  journey,  she  could  not  refrain  from  drawing 
a  comparison  to  Miss  Dorothy  between  the  dissipated  in- 
sipidity of  Lady  Dundas'  way  of  life  and  the  rationality 
as  well  as  splendor  of  her  late  lamented  aunt's. 

Lady  Somerset's  monthly  assemblies  were  not  the  most 
elegant  and  brilliant  parties  in  town,  but  her  weekly  con- 


TEADDEU8  OF  WARS  A  W.  223 

versaziones  surpassed  everything  of  the  kind  in  the  king- 
aom.  On  these  nights  her  ladyship's  rooms  used  to  be 
filled  with  the  most  eminent  characters  which  England 
could  produce.  There  the  young  Mary  Beaufort  listened 
to  pious  divines  of  every  Christian  persuasion.  There 
she  gathered  wisdom  from  real  philosophers;  and  in  the 
society  of  our  best  living  poets,  among  whom  were  those 
leaders  of  our  classic  song,  Rogers  and  William  Southey, 
and  the  amiable  Jerningham,  cherished  an  enthusiasm  for 
all  that  is  great  and  good.  On  these  evenings  8ir  Robert 
Somerset's  house  reminded  the  visitor  of  what  he  had  read 
or  imagined  of  the  school  of  Athens.  He  beheld  not  only 
sages,  soldiers,  statesmen,  and  poets,  but  intelligent  and 
amiable  women.  And  in  this  rare  assembly  did  the  beau- 
tiful Mary  imbibe  that  steady  reverence  for  virtue  and 
talent  which  no  intermixture  with  the  ephemera  of  the 
day  could  ever  after  either  displace  or  impair. 

Notwithstanding  this  rare  freedom  from  the  chains  with 
which  her  merely  fashionable  friends  would  have  shackled 
her  mind,  Miss  Beaufort  possessed  too  much  judgment 
and  delicacy  to  flash  her  liberty  in  their  eyes.  Enjoying 
her  independence  with  meekness,  she  held  it  more  secure. 
Mary  was  no  declaimer,  not  even  in  the  cause  of  oppressed 
goodness  or  injured  genius.  Aware  that  direct  opposition 
often  incenses  malice,  she  directed  the  shaft  from  its  aim, 
if  it  were  in  her  power,  and  when  the  attempt  failed, 
strove  by  respect  or  sympathy  to  heal  the  wound  she  could 
not  avert.  Thus,  whatever  she  said  or  did  bore  the  stamp 
of  her  soul,  whose  leading  attribute  was  modesty.  By 
having  learned  much,  and  thought  more,  she  proved  in 
her  conduct  that  reflection  is  the  alchemy  which  turns 
knowledge  into  wisdom. 

Never  did  she  feel  so  much  regret  at  the  shrinking  of 
her  powers  from  coming  forth  by  some  word  or  deed  in 
aid  of  offended  worth,  as  when  she  beheld  the  foreign 
stranger,  so  noble  in  aspect,  standing  under  the  overbear- 
ing insolence  of  Miss  Dundas'  parasites.  But  she  per- 
ceived that  his  dignified  composure  rebounded  their  darts 
upon  his  insulters,  and  respect  took  the  place  of  pity. 
The  situation  was  new  to  her;  and  when  she  dropped  her 
confused  eyes  beneath  his  unexpected  gaze,  she  marveled 
within  herself  at  the  ease  with  which  she  had  just  taken 
up  the  cause  of  Lord  Berrington,  and  the  difficulty  she 


224  TBADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

had  found  to  summon  one  word  as  a  repellent  to  the  un- 
merited attack  on  the  man  before  her. 

Euphemia  cared  nothing  about  Lord  Berrington:  to  her 
his  faults  or  his  virtues  were  alike  indifferent;  and  forget- 
ting that  civility  demanded  some  reply  to  Miss  Beaufort's 
last  observation,  or  rather  taking  advantage  of  the  tolerated 
privilege  usurped  by  many  high-bred  people  of  being  ill- 
Jbred,  when  and  how  they  pleased,  she  returned  to  Thad- 
deus,  and  said  with  a  forced  smile : 

"Mr.  Constantine,  I  don't  like  your  opinion  upon  the 
ode  I  showed  to  you;  I  think  it  a  very  absurd  opinion;  or 
perhaps  you  did  not  understand  me  rightly?" 

Miss  Beaufort  took  up  a  book,  that  her  unoccupied  at- 
tention might  not  disturb  their  studies. 

Euphemia  resumed,  with  a  more  natural  dimple,  and 
touching  his  glove  with  the  rosy  points  of  her  fingers, 
said : 

"Yon  are  stupid  at  translation." 

Thaddeus  colored,  and  sat  uneasily;  he  knew  not  how 
to  evade  this  direct  though  covert  attack. 

"I  am  a  bad  poet,  madam.  Indeed,  it  would  be  danger- 
ous even  for  a  good  one  to  attempt  the  same  path  with 
Sappho  and  Phillips." 

Euphemia  now  blushed  as  deeply  as  the  count,  but  from 
another  motive.  Opening  her  grammar,  she  whispered, 
"You  are  either  a  very  dull  or  a  very  modest  man!"  and, 
sighing,  began  to  repeat  her  lesson. 

While  he  bent  his  head  over  the  sheet  he  was  correct- 
ing, she  suddenly  exclaimed,  "Bless  me,  Mr.  Constantine, 
what  have  you  been  doing?  I  hope  you  don't  read  in  bed ! 
The  top  of  your  hair  is  burnt  to  a  cinder !  Why,  you  looked 
much  more  like  one  who  has  been  in  a  fire  than  Miss 


iBeaufort  does." 


Thaddeus  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 

"I  thought  I  had  brushed  away  all  marks  of  a  fire,  in 
which  I  really  was  last  night." 

"A  fire!"  interrupted  Miss  Beaufort,  closing  her  book; 
"was  it  near  Tottenham  Court  Eoad?" 

"It  was,  madam,"  answered  he,  in  a  tone  almost  as  sur- 
prised as  her  own. 

"Good  gracious!"  cried  Euphemia,  exerting  her  little 
voice,  that  she  might  be  heard  before  Miss  Beaufort  could 
have  time  to  reply;  "then  I  vow  you  are  the  gentleman 


TITADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  225 

who  Miss  Beaufort  said  ran  into  the  burning  house,  and, 
covered  with  flames,  saved  two  children  from  perishing!" 

"And  I  am  so  happy  as  to  meet  one  of  the  ladies,"  re- 
plied he,  turning  with  an  animated  air  to  Miss  Beaufort, 
in  you,  madam,  who  so  humanely  assisted  the  poor  suf- 
ferers, and  received  the  child  from  my  arms?" 

"It  was  indeed  myself,  Mr.  Constantine,"  returned  she, 
a  tear  swimming  over  her  eye,  which  in  a  moment  gave 
the  cue  to  the  tender  Enphemia.  She  drew  out  her  hand- 
kerchief; and  while  her  pretty  cheeks  overflowed,  and  her 
sweet  voice  was  rendered  sweeter  by  an  emotion  raised  by 
ten  thousand  delightful  fancies,  she  took  hold  of  Miss 
Beaufort's  hand. 

"Oh!  my  lovely  friend,  wonder  not  that  I  esteem  this 
brave  Constantine  far  beyond  his  present  station!" 

Thaddens  drew  back.  Miss  Beaufort  looked  amazed; 
but  Enphemia  had  mounted  her  romantic  Pegasus,  and 
the  scene  was  too  sentimental  to  close. 

"Come  here,  Mr.  Constantine,"  cried  she,  extending 
her  other  hand  to  his.  Wondering  where  this  folly  would 
terminate,  he  gave  it  to  her,  when,  instantly  joining  it 
with  that  of  Miss  Beaufort,  she  pressed  them  together, 
and  said,  "Sweet  Mary!  heroic  Constantine!  I  thus  elect 
you  the  two  dearest  friends  of  my  heart.  So  charmingly 
associated  in  the  delightful  task  of  compassion,  you  shall 
ever  be  commingled  in  my  faithful  bosom." 

Then  putting  her  handkerchief  to  her  eyes,  she  walked 
out  of  the  room,  leaving  Miss  Beaufort  and  the  count,  con- 
fused and  confounded,  by  the  side  of  each  other.  Miss 
Beaufort,  suspecting  that  some  extravagant  fancy  had 
taken  possession  of  the  susceptible  Enphemia  toward  her 
young  tutor,  declined  speaking  first.  Thaddeus,  fixing 
his  gaze  on  her  downcast  and  revolving  countenance,  per- 
ceived nothing  like  offended  pride  at  his  undesigned  pre- 
sumption. He  saw  that  she  was  only  embarrassed,  and 
after  a  minute's  hesitation,  broke  the  silence. 

"I  hope  that  Miss  Beaufort  is  sufficiently  acquainted 
with  the  romance  of  Miss  Euphemia's  character  to  pardon 
the  action,  unintentional  on  my  part,  of  having  touched 
her  hand?  I  declare  I  had  no  expectation  of  Miss  Euphe- 
mia's design." 

"Do  not  make  any  apology  to  me,  Mr.  Constantine," 
returned  she,  resuming  her  seat;  "to  be  sure  I  was  a  little 


226  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

electrified  by  the  strange  situation  in  which  her  vivid 
feelings  have  just  made  us  actors.  But  I  shall  not  forego 
my  claim  on  what  she  promised — your  acquaintance." 

Thaddeus  expressed  his  high  sense  of  her  condescension. 

"I  am  not  fond  of  fine  terms,"  continued  she,  smiling; 
"but  I  know  that  time  and  merit  must  purchase  esteem. 
I  can  engage  for  the  first,  as  I  am  to  remain  in  town  at 
least  three  months;  but  for  the  last,  I  fear  I  shall  never 
have  the  opportunity  of  giving  such  an  earnest  of  my 
desert  as  you  did  last  night  of  yours." 

Footsteps  sounded  on  the  stairs.  Thaddeus  took  up  his 
hat,  and  bowing,  replied  to  her  compliment  with  such  a 
modest  yet  noble  grace  that  she  gazed  after  him  with 
wonder  and  concern.  Before  he  closed  the  door  he  again 
bowed.  Pleased  with  the  transient  look  of  a  soft  pleasure 
which  beamed  from  his  eyes,  through  whose  ingenuous 
mirrors  every  thought  of  his  soul  might  be  read,  she 
smiled  a  second  adieu,  and  as  he  disappeared,  left  the 
room  by  another  passage. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SUCH    THINGS    WEEE. 

When  the  count  appeared  the  succeeding  day  in  Harley 
Street,  Miss  Beaufort  introduced  him  to  Miss  Dorothy 
Somerset  as  the  gentleman  who  had  so  gallantly  preserved 
the  lives  of  the  children  at  the  hazard  of  his  own. 

Notwithstanding  the  lofty  tossings  of  Miss  Dundas' 
head,  the  good  old  maid  paid  him  several  encomiums  on 
his  intrepidity;  and  telling  him  that  the  sufferers  were 
the  wife  and  family  of  a  poor  tradesman,  who  was  then 
absent  in  the  country,  she  added,  "But  we  saw  them  com- 
fortably lodged  before  we  left  them ;  and  all  the  time  we 
stayed,  I  could  not  help  congratulating  myself  on  the  easy 
compliance  of  Mary  with  my  whims.  I  dislike  sleeping 
at  an  inn;  and  to  prevent  it  then,  I  had  prevailed  on  Miss 
Beaufort  to  pursue  our  road  to  town  even  through  the 
night.  It  was  lucky  it  happened  so,  for  I  am  certain 
Mary  will  not  allow  these  poor  creatures  a  long  lament 
over  the  wreck  oi  their  little  property," 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  227 

"How  charmingly  charitable,  my  lovely  friend !"  cried 
Euphemia;  "let  us  make  a  collection  for  this  unfortunate 
woman  and  her  babes.  Pray,  as  a  small  tribute,  take  that 
from  me!"  She  put  five  guineas  into  the  hand  of  the 
glowing  Mary. 

The  ineffable  grace  with  which  the  confused  Miss  Beau- 
fort laid  the  money  on  her  aunt's  knee  did  not  escape  the 
observation  of  Thaddeus;  neither  did  the  unintended 
approbabion  of  his  eye  pass  unnoticed  by  its  amiable  ob- 
ject. 

When  Lady  Tinemonth  was  informed  that  evening  by 
the  count  of  the  addition  to  the  Harley  Street  party,  she 
was  delighted  at  the  news,  saying  she  had  been  well  ac- 
quainted with  Miss  Dorothy  and  her  niece  during  the  life- 
time of  Lady  Somerset,  and  would  take  an  early  day  to 
call  upon  them.  During  this  part  of  her  ladyship's  dis- 
course, an  additional  word  or  two  had  unfolded  to  her 
auditor  the  family  connection  that  had  subsisted  between 
the  lady  she  regretted  and  his  estranged  friend.  And 
when  the  countess  paused,  Thaddeus,  struck  with  a  for- 
giving pity  at  this  intelligence,  was  on  the  point  of  ex- 
pressing his  concern  that  Pembroke  Somerset  had  lost  so 
highly  prized  a  mother;  but  recollecting  that  Lady  Tine- 
mouth  was  ignorant  of  their  ever  having  known  each 
other,  he  allowed  her  to  proceed  without  a  remark. 

"I  never  have  been  in  company  with  Sir  Eobert's  son," 
continued  the  countess;  "it  was  during  his  absence  on  the 
Continent  that  I  was  introduced  to  Lady  Somerset.  She 
was  a  woman  who  possessed  the  rare  talent  of  conforming 
herself  to  all  descriptions  of  people;  and  while  the  com- 
placency of  her  attentions  surpassed  the  most  refined  flat- 
tery, she  commanded  the  highest  veneration  for  herself. 
Hence  you  may  imagine  my  satisfaction  in  an  acquaintance 
which  it  is  probable  would  never  have  been  mine  had  I 
been  the  happy  Countess  of  Tinemouth,  instead  of  a  de- 
serted wife.  Though  the  Somersets  are  related  to  my 
lord,  they  had  long  treated  him  as  a  stranger;  and  doubly 
disgusted  at  his  late  behavior,  they  commenced  a  friend- 
ship with  me,  I  believe,  to  demonstrate  more  fully  their 
detestation  of  him.  Indeed,  my  husband  is  a  creature  of 
inconsistency.  No  man  possessed  more  power  to  attract 
friends  than  Lord  Tinemouth,  and  no  man  had  less  power 
to  retain  them ;  as  fast  as  he  made  one  he  offended  the 


228  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

other,  and  has  at  last  deprived  himself  of  every  individual 
out  of  his  own  house  who  would  not  regard  his  death  as  a 
fortunate  circumstance." 

"But,  Lady  Somerset,"  cried  Thaddeus,  impatient  to 
change  a  subject  every  word  of  which  was  a  dagger  to  his 
heart,  "I  mean  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset,  Miss  Beau- 
fort  » 

"Yes,"  returned  her  ladyship;  "I  see,  kind  Mr.  Con- 
stantine,  your  friendly  solicitude  to  disengage  me  from 
retrospections  so  painful!  Well,  then,  I  knew  and  very 
much  esteemed  the  two  ladies  you  mention;  but  after  the 
death  of  Lady  Somerset,  their  almost  constant  residence 
in  the  country  has  greatly  prevented  a  renewal  of  this 
pleasure.  However,  as  they  are  now  in  town,  I  will  thank 
you  to  acquaint  them  with  my  intention  to  call  upon  them 
in  Harley  Street.  I  remember  always  thinking  Miss  Beau- 
fort a  very  charming  girl." 

Thaddeus  thought  her  more.  He  saw  that  she  was 
beautiful;  he  had  witnessed  instances  of  her  goodness, 
and  the  recollection  filled  his  mind  with  a  complacency 
the  more  tender,  since  it  had  so  long  been  a  stranger  to 
his  bosom;  and  again  he  felt  the  strange  emotion  which 
had  passed  over  his  heart  at  their  first  meeting.  But  fur- 
ther observations  were  prevented  by  the  entrance  of  Miss 
Egerton  and  Lady  Sara  Boss. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Constantine,"  cried  the 
lively  Sophia,  shaking  hands  with  him:  "you  are  the  very 
person  I  have  been  plotting  against." 

Lady  Tinemouth  was  uneasy  at  the  care  with  which 
Lady  Sara  averted  her  face,  well  knowing  that  it  was  to 
conceal  the  powerful  agitation  of  her  features,  which 
always  took  place  at  the  sight  of  Thaddeus. 

"What  is  your  plot,  Miss  Egerton?"  inquired  he;  "I 
shall  consider  myself  honored  by  your  commands,  and  do 
not  require  a  conspiracy  to  entrap  my  obedience." 

"That's  a  good  soul!  Then  I  have  only  to  apply  to 
you,  Lady  Tinemouth.  Your  ladyship  must  know,"  cried 
she,  "that  as  Lady  Sara  and  I  were  a  moment  ago  driving 
up  the  Haymarket,  I  nodded  to  Mr.  Coleman,  who  was 
coming  out  of  the  playhouse.  He  stopped,  I  pulled  the 
check-string,  and  we  had  a  great  deal  of  confab  out  of  the 
window.  He  tells  me  a  new  farce  is  to  come  out  this  day 
week,  and  he  hoped  I  would  be  there!     'No,'  said  I,  'I 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  229 

eannot,  for  I  am  on  a  visit  with  that  precise  body,  the 
Countess  of  Tinemouth,  who  would  not,  to  save  you  and 
all  your  generation,  come  into  such  a  mob.'  'Her  lady- 
ship shall  have  my  box,'  cried  he;  'for  I  would  not  for 
the  world  lose  the  honor  of  your  opinion  on  the  merits  of 
my  farce.'  'To  be  sure  not V  cries  I;  so  I  accepted  his 
box,  and  drove  off,  devising  with  Lady  Sara  how  to  get 
your  ladyship  as  our  chaperon  and  Mr.  Constantine  to  be 
our  beau.  He  has  just  promised;  so  dear  Lady  Tine- 
mouth,  don't  be  inflexible!" 

Thaddeus  was  confounded  at  the  dilemma  into  which  his 
ready  acquiescence  had  involved  his  prudence.  The 
countess  shook  her  head. 

"Now  I  declare,  Lady  Tinemouth,"  exclaimed  Miss 
Egerton,  "this  is  an  absolute  stingy  fit!  You  are  afraid 
of  your  purse!  You  know  this  private  box  precludes  all 
awkward  meetings  and  you  can  have  no  excuse." 

"But  it  cannot  preclude  all  awkward  sights,"  answered 
her  ladyship.  "You  know,  Sophia,  I  never  go  into  pub- 
lic, for 'fear  of  being  met  by  the  angry  looks  of  my  lord  or 
my  son." 

"Disagreeable  people!"  cried  Miss  Egerton  pettishly; 
"I  wish  some  friendly  whirlwind  would  take  your  lord 
and  son  out  of  the  world  together." 

"Sophia!"  retorted  her  ladyship,  with  a  grave  air. 

"Keb«ke  me,  Lady  Tinemouth,  if  you  like;  I  confess  I 
am  no  Serena,  and  these  trials  of  temper  don't  agree  with 
my  constitution.  There,"  cried  she,  throwing  a  silver 
medal  on  the  table,  and  laughing  in  spite  of  herself: 
"there  is  our  passport;  but  I  will  send  it  back,  and  so 
break  poor  Coleman's  heart." 

"Fie!  Sophia,"  answered  her  ladyship,  patting  her 
half -angry  cheeks;  "would  you  owe  to  your  petulance 
what  was  denied  to  your  good  humor?" 

"Then  your  ladyship  will  go!"  exclaimed  she  exult- 
ingly.  "You  have  yielded;  these  sullens  were  a  part  of 
my  stratagem,  and  I  won't  let  you  secede." 

Lady  Tinemouth  thought  this  would  be  a  fair  oppor- 
tunity to  show  one  of  the  theaters  to  her  young  friend, 
without  involving  him  in  expense  or  obligation,  and  accord- 
ingly she  gave  her  consent. 

"Do  you  intend  to  favor  us  with  your  company,  Lady 
Sara?"  asked  the  countess,  with  a  hope  that  she  might 
refuse. 


230  THADDBV8  OF  WARSAW. 

Lady  Sara,  who  had  been  standing  silently  at  the  win- 
dow, rather  proudly  answered: 

"Yes,  madam,  if  you  will  honor  me  with  your  protec- 
tion." 

Lady  Tinemouth  was  the  only  one  present  who  under- 
stood the  resentment  which  these  words  conveyed;  and, 
almost  believing  that  she  had  gone  too  far,  by  implying 
suspicion,  she  approached  her  with  a  pleading  anxiety  of 
countenance.  "Then,  Lady  Sara,  perhaps  you  will  dine 
with  me?  I  mean  to  call  on  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset,  and 
would  invite  her  to  be  of  the  party." 

Lady  Sara  courtesied  her  acceptance,  and,  smiling, 
appeared  to  think  no  more  of  the  matter.  But  she  neither 
forgot  it  nor  found  herself  able  to  forgive  Lady  Tine- 
mouth  for  having  betrayed  her  into  a  confidence  which 
her  own  turbulent  passions  had  made  but  too  easy.  She 
had  listened  unwillingly  to  the  reasonable  declaration  of 
the  countess,  that  her  only  way  to  retreat  from  an  error 
which  threatened  criminality  was  to  avoid  the  object. 

"When  a  married  woman,"  observed  her  ladyship,  in 
that  confidential  conference,  "is  so  unhappy  as  to  love  any 
man  besides  her  husband,  her  only  safety  rests  in  the  reso- 
lution to  quit  his  society,  and  to  banish  his  image  when- 
ever it  obtrudes." 

Lady  Sara  believed  herself  incapable  of  this  "exertion, 
and  hated  the  woman  who  thought  it  necessary.  By  let- 
ter and  conversation  Lady  Tinemouth  tried  to  display  in 
every  possible  light  the  enormity  of  giving  encouragement 
to  such  an  attachment,  and  ended  with  the  unanswerable 
climax — the  consideration  of  her  duty  to  Heaven. 

Of  this  argument  Lady  Sara  knew  little.  She  never  re- 
flected on  the  tiue  nature  of  religion,  though  she  some- 
times went  to  church,  repeated  the  prayers,  without  being 
conscious  of  their  spirit;  and  when  the  coughing,  sneez- 
ing, and  blowing  of  noses  which  commonly  accompany  the 
text  subsided,  she  generally  called  up  the  remembrance  of 
the  last  ball,  or  an  anticipation  of  the  next  assembly,  to 
amuse  herself  until  the  prosing  business  was  over.  From 
church  she  drove  to  the  park,  where,  bowling  round  the 
ring,  or  sauntering  in  the  gardens,  she  soon  forgot  that 
there  existed  in  the  universe  a  Power  of  higher  conse- 
quence to  please  than  her  own  vanity — and  the  admiration 
of  the  spectators. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  231 

Lady  Sara  would  have  shuddered  at  hearing  any  one 
declare  himself  a  deist,  much  more  an  atheist;  but  for  any 
influence  which  her  nominal  belief  held  over  her  desires, 
she  might  as  well  have  been  either.  She  never  committed 
an  action  deserving  the  name  of  premeditated  injury,  nor 
went  far  out  of  her  way  to  do  her  best  friend  a  service — 
not  because  she  wanted  inclination,  but  she  ceased  to  re- 
member both  the  petitioner  and  his  petition  before  he  had 
been  five  minutes  from  her  sight.  She  had  read  as  much 
as  most  fine  ladies  have  read :  a  few  histories,  a  few  vol- 
umes of  essays,  a  few  novels,  and  now  and  then  a  little 
poetry  comprised  the  whole  range  of  her  studies;  these, 
with  morning  calls  and  evening  assemblies,  occupied  her 
whole  day.  Such  had  been  the  routine  of  her  life  until 
she  met  the  once  "young  star"  of  Poland,  Thaddeus 
Sobieski,  in  an  unknown  exile,  an  almost  nameless  guest, 
at  Lady  Tinemouth's,  which  event  caused  a  total  revolu- 
tion in  her  mind  and  conduct. 

The  strength  of  Lady  Sara's  understanding  might  have 
credited  a  better  education;  but  her  passions  bearing  an 
equal  power  with  this  mental  vigor,  and  having  taken  a 
wrong  direction,  she  neither  acknowledged  the  will  nor 
the  capability  to  give  the  empire  to  her  reason.  When 
love  really  entered  her  heart,  its  first  conquest  was  over 
her  universal  vanity;  she  surrendered  all  her  admirers,  in 
the  hope  of  securing  the  admiration  of  Thaddeus;  its 
second  victory  mastered  her  discretion;  she  revealed  her 
unhappy  affection  to  Lady  Tinemouth,  and  more  than 
hinted  it  to  himself.  What  had  she  else  to  lose?  She  be- 
lieved her  honor  to  be  safer  than  her  life.  Her  honor  was 
the  term.  She  had  no  conception,  or,  at  best,  a  faint  one, 
that  a  breach  of  the  marriage  vow  could  be  an  outrage  on  the 
laws  of  Heaven.  The  word  sin  had  been  gradually  ignored 
by  the  oligarchy  of  fashion,  from  the  hour  in  which 
Charles  the  Second  and  his  profligate  court  trod  down 
piety  with  hypocrisy;  and  in  this  day  the  new  philosophy 
has  accomplished  its  total  outlawry,  denouncing  it  as  a 
rebel  to  decency  and  the  freedom  of  man. 

Thus,  the  Christian  religion  being  driven  from  the 
haunts  of  the  great,  pagan  morality  is  raised  from  that 
prostration  where,  Dagon-like,  it  fell  at  the  feet  of  the 
Scriptures,  and  is  again  erected  as  the  idol  of  adoration. 
Guilt  against  Heaven  fades  before  the  decrees  of  man; 


232  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

his  law  of  ethics  reprobates  crime.     But  crime  is  only  a 
temporal  transgression,  in  opposition  to  the  general  good; 
it  draws  no  consequent  punishment  heavier  than  the  judg- 
ment of  a  broken  human  law,  or  the  resentment  of  the 
offended  private  parties.     Morality  neither  promises  re- 
wards after  death  nor  denounces  future  chastisement  for 
error.     The  disciples  of  this  independent  doctrine  hold 
forth  instances  of  the  perfectibility  of  human  actions, 
produced  by  the  unassisted  decisions  of  human  intellect 
on  the  limits  of  right  and  wrong.     They  admire  virtue, 
because  it  is  beautiful.     They  practice  it,  because  it  is 
heroic.     They  do  not  abstain  from  the  gratification  of  an 
intemperate  wish  under  the  belief  that  it  is  sinful,  but  in 
obedience  to  their  reason,  which  rejects  the  commission  of 
a  vicious  act  because  it  is  uncomely.     In  the  first  case, 
God  is  their  judge;  in  the  latter,  themselves.     The  com- 
parison need  only  be  proposed,  to  humble  the  pride  that 
made  it  necessary.     How  do  these  systematizers  refine  and 
subtilize!     How  do  they  dwell  on  the  principle  of  virtue, 
and  turn  it  in  every  metaphysical  light,  until  their  phi- 
losophy rarefies  it  to  nothing!     Some  degrade,  and  others 
abandon,    the  only  basis  on  which  an  upright  character 
can  stand  with  firmness.     The  bulwark  which  Revelation 
erected  between  the  passions  and  the  soul  is  leveled   first; 
and  then  that  instinctive  rule  of  right  which  the  modern 
casuist  denominates  the  citadel  of  virtues  falls  of  course. 
By  such  gradations  the  progress  of  depravity  is  accom- 
plished; and  the  general  leaven  having  worked  to  Lady 
Sara's    mind  on  such  premises  (though  she  might  not 
arrange  them  so  distinctly),  she  deduced  that  what  is  called 
conjugal  right  is  a  mere  establishment  of  man,  and  might 
be  extended  or  limited  by  him  to  any  length  he  pleased. 
For  instance,  the  Turks  were  not  content  with  one  wife, 
but  appropriated  hundreds  to  one  man;  and  because  such 
indulgence  was  permitted  by  Mohammed,  no  other  nation 
presumed  to  call  them  culpable. 

Hence  she  thought  that  if  she  could  once  reconcile  her- 
self to  believe  that  her  own  happiness  was  dearer  to  her 
than  the  notice  of  half  a  thousand  people  to  whom  she 
was  indifferent;  that  only  in  their  opinion  and  the  world's 
her  flying  to  the  protection  of  Thaddeus  would  be  crime; 
could  she  confidently  think  this,  what  should  deter  her 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  233 

from  instantly  throwing  herself  into  the  arms  of  the  man 
she  loved?* 

"Ah!"  cried  the  thus  self-deluded  Lady  Sara,  one 
night,  as  she  traversed  her  chamber  in  a  paroxysm  of 
tears;  "what  are  the  vows  I  have  sworn?  How  can  I  keep 
them?  I  have  sworn  to  love,  to  honor  Captain  Boss;  but 
in  spite  of  myself,  without  any  action  of  my  own,  I  have 
broken  both  these  oaths.  I  cannot  love  him ;  I  hate  him ; 
and  I  cannot  honor  the  man  I  hate.  What  have  I  else  to 
break?  Nothing.  My  nuptial  vow  is  as  completely  anni- 
hilated as  if  I  had  left  him  never  to  return.  How,"  cried 
she,  after  a  pause  of  some  minutes,  "how  shall  I  know 
what  passes  in  the  mind  of  Constantine?  Did  he  love  me, 
would  he  protect  me,  I  would  brave  the  whole  universe. 
Oh,  I  should  be  the  happiest  of  the  happy!" 

Fatal  conclusion  of  reflection!  It  infected  her  dream- 
ing and  her  waking  fancy.  She  regarded  everything  as 
an  enemy  that  opposed  her  passion;  and  as  the  first  of 
these  enemies,  she  detested  Lady  Tinemouth.  The  count- 
ess' last  admonishing  letter  enraged  her  by  its  arguments; 
and  throwing  it  into  the  fire  with  execrations  and  tears, 
she  determined  to  pursue  her  own  will,  but  to  affect  being 
influenced  by  her  ladyship's  counsels. 

The  Count  Sobieski,  who  surmised  not  the  hundredth 
part  of  the  infatuation  of  Lady  Sara,  began  to  hope  that 
her  ardent  manner  had  misled  him,  or  that  she  had  seen 
the  danger  of  such  imprudence. 

Under  these  impressions,  the  party  for  the  theater  was 
settled;  and  Thaddeus,  after  sitting  an  hour  in  Grosvenor 
Place,  returned  to  his  humble  home,  and  attendance  on 
his  venerated  friend. 

*  Such  were  the  nioral  tactics  for  human  conduct  at  the  commence- 
ment of  this  century.  But,  thanks  to  the  patience  of  God,  he  has 
given  a  better  spirit  to  the  present  age — to  his  philosophy  an  admi- 
rable development  of  the  wisdom  and  beneficence  of  his  works,  instead 
of  the  former  metaphysical  vanities  and  contradictory  bewilderments 
of  opinions  concerning  the  divine  nature  and  the  elements  of  man, 
which,  as  far  as  a  demon  spirit  could  go,  had  plunged  the  created 
world,  both  physically  and  morally,  into  the  darkness  of  chaos  again. 
The  Holy  Scriptures  are  now  the  foundation  studies  of  our  country, 
and  her  ark  is  safe.     (1845.) 


234  TBADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

CHAPTEE  XXVIII. 

MART   BEAUFORT   AND   HER   VENERABLE   AUNT. 

The  addition  of  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset  and  Miss  Beau- 
fort to  the  morning  group  at  Lady  Dundas'  imparted  a 
less  reluctant  motion  to  the  before  tardy  feet  of  the  count, 
whenever  he  turned  them  toward  Harley  Street. 

Miss  Dorothy  readily  supposed  him  to  have  been  better 
born  than  he  appeared ;  and  displeased  with  the  treatment 
he  had  received  from  Miss  Dundas  and  her  guests,  behaved 
to  him  herself  with  the  most  gratifying  politeness. 

Aunt  Dorothy  (for  that  was  the  title  by  which  every 
branch  of  the  baronet's  family  addressed  her)  was  full 
twenty  years  the  senior  of  her  brother,  Sir  Robert  Somer- 
set. Having  in  her  youth  been  thought  very  like  the 
famous  and  lovely  Mrs.  Woffington,  she  had  been  con- 
sidered the  beauty  of  her  time,  and  as  such  for  ten  years 
continued  the  reigning  belle.  Nevertheless,  she  arrived 
at  the  age  of  seventy-two  without  having  been  either  the 
object  or  the  subject  of  a  fervent  passion. 

Possessing  a  fine  understanding,  a  refined  taste,  and  fine 
feelings,  by  some  chance  she  had  escaped  love.  It  cannot 
be  denied  that  she  was  much  admired,  much  respected, 
and  much  esteemed,  and  that  she  received  two  or  three 
splendid  proposals  from  men  of  rank.  Some  of  those  men 
she  admired,  some  she  respected,  and  some  she  esteemed, 
but  not  one  did  she  love,  and  she  successively  refused 
them  all.  Shortly  after  their  discharge,  they  generally 
consoled  themselves  by  marrying  other  women,  who,  per- 
haps, wanted  both  the  charms  and  the  sense  of  Miss  Som- 
erset; yet  she  congratulated  them  on  their  choice,  and 
usually  became  the  warm  friend  of  the  happy  couple. 

Thus  year  passed  over  year;  Miss  Somerset  continued 
the  esteemed  of  every  worthy  heart,  though  she  could  not 
then  kindle  the  embers  of  a  livelier  glow  in  any  one  of 
them;  and  at  the  epoch  called  a  certain  age,  she  found 
herself  an  old  maid,  but  possessing  so  much  good  humor 
and  affection  toward  the  young  people  about  her,  she  did 
not  need  any  of  her  own  to  mingle  in  the  circle. 

This  amiable  old  lady  usually  took  her  knitting  into  the 
library  before  the  fair  students;  and  whenever  Thaddeus 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  235 

entered  the  room  (so  natural  is  it  for  generous  natures  to 
sympathize),  his  eyes  first  sought  her  venerable  figure; 
then  glancing  around  to  catch  an  assuring  beam  from  the 
lovely  countenance  of  her  niece,  he  seated  himself  with 
confidence. 

The  presence  of  these  ladies  operated  as  a  more  than 
sufficient  antidote  to  the  disagreeableness  of  his  situation. 
To  them  he  directed  all  the  attention  that  was  not  re- 
quired by  his  occupation;  he  heard  them  only  speak  when 
a  hundred  others  were  talking;  he  saw  them  only  when  a 
hundred  others  were  in  company. 

In  addition  to  this  pleasant  change,  Miss  Euphemia's 
passion  assumed  a  less  tormenting  form.  She  had  been 
reading  Madame  d'Arblay's  ''Camilla;"  and  becoming 
enamored  of  the  delicacy  and  pensive  silence  of  the  inter- 
esting heroine,  she  determined  on  adopting  the  same  char- 
acter; and  at  the  same  time  taking  it  into  her  ever-crea- 
tive brain  that  Constantine's  coldness  bore  a  striking 
affinity  to  the  caution  of  Edgar  Mandelbert,  she  wiped 
the  rouge  from  her  pretty  face,  and  prepared  to  "let  con- 
cealment, like  a  worm  in  the  bud,  feed  on  her  damask 
cheek." 

To  afford  decorous  support  to  this  fancy,  her  gayest 
clothes  were  thrown  aside,  to  make  way  for  a  negligence 
of  apparel  which  cost  her  two  hours  each  morning  to  com- 
pose. Her  dimpling  smiles  were  now  quite  banished. 
She  was  ever  sighing,  and  ever  silent,  and  ever  lolling  and 
leaning  about ;  reclining  along  sofas,  or  in  some  disconso- 
late attitude,  grouping  herself  with  one  of  the  marble 
urns,  and  sitting  "like "Patience  on  a  monument  smiling 
at  grief." 

Thaddeus  preferred  this  pathetic  whim  to  her  former 
Sapphic  follies;  it  afforded  him  quiet,  and  relieved  him 
from  much  embarrassment. 

Every  succeeding  visit  induced  Miss,  Beaufort  to  observe 
him  with  a  more  lively  interest.  The  nobleness  yet 
humility  with  which  he  behaved  toward  herself  and  her 
aunt,  and  the  manly  serenity  with  which  he  suffered  the 
insulting  sarcasms  of  Miss  Dundas,  led  her  not  merely  to 
conceive  but  to  entertain  many  doubts  that  his  present 
situation  was  that  of  his  birth. 

The  lady  visitors  who  dropped  in  on  the  sisters'  studies 
were  not  ba<  :  in  espousing  the  game  of  ridicule,  as  it 


236  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 

played  away  a  few  minutes,  to  join  in  a  laugh  with  the 
"witty  Diana."  These  gracious  beings  thought  their  sex 
gave  them  privilege  to  offend;  but  it  was  not  always  that 
the  gentlemen  durst  venture  beyond  a  shrug  of  the 
shoulder,  a  drop  of  the  lip,  a  wink  of  the  eye,  or  a  raising 
of  the  brows.  Mary  observed  with  contempt  that  they 
were  prudent  enough  not  to  exercise  even  these  specimens 
{of  a  mean  hostility  except  when  its  noble  object  had 
'turned  his  back,  and  regarding  him  with  increased  admi- 
ration, she  wasindignant,  and  then  disdainful,  at  the  eiivy 
which  actuated  these  men  to  treat  with  affected  scorn  him 
whom  they  secretly  feared. 

The  occasional  calls  of  Lady  Tinemouth  and  Miss  Eger- 
ton  stimulated  the  cabal  against  Thaddeus.  The  sincere 
sentiment  of  equaiity  with  themselves  which  these  two 
ladies  evinced  by  their  behavior  to  him,  and  the  same 
conduct  being  adopted  by  Miss  Dorothy  and  her  beautiful 
niece,  besides  the  evident  partiality  of  Euphemia,  alto- 
gether inflamed  the  spleen  of  Miss  Dundas,  and  excited 
her  coterie  to  acts  of  the  most  extravagant  rudeness. 

The  little  phalanx,  at  the  head  of  which  was  the  superb 
Diana,  could  offer  no  real  reason  for  disliking  a  man  who 
was  not  only  their  inferior,  but  who  had  never  offended 
them  even  by  implication.  It  was  a  sufficient  apology  to 
their  easy  consciences  that  "he  gave  himself  such  courtly 
airs  as  were  quite  ridiculous — that  his  presumption  was 
astonishing.  In  short,  they  were  all  idle,  and  it  was  ex- 
ceedingly amusing  to  lounge  a  morning  with  the  rich 
Dundases  and  hoax  monsieur." 

Had  Thaddeus  known  one-fourth  of  the  insolent  deri- 
sion with  which  his  misfortunes  were  treated  behind  his 
back,  perhaps  even  his  friend's  necessity  could  not  have 
detained  him  in  his  employment.  The  brightness  of  a 
brave  man's  name  makes  shadows  perceptible  which  might 
pass  unmarked  over  a  duller  surface.  Sobieski's  delicate 
honor  would  have  supposed  itself  sullied  by  enduring  such 
contumely  with  toleration.  But,  as  was  said  before,  the 
male  adjuncts  of  Miss  Dundas  had  received  so  opportune; 
a  warning  from  an  accidental  knitting  of  the  count's  brow, 
they  never  after  could  muster  temerity  to  sport  their  wit 
to  his  face. 

These  circumstances  were  not  lost  upon  Mary;  she  col- 
lected them  as  part  of  a  treasure,  and  turner]   them  over 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  237 

on  her  pillow  with  the  jealous  examination  of  a  miser. 
Like  Enphemia,  she  supposed  Thaddeus  to  be  other  than 
he  seemed.  Yet  her  fancy  did  not  suppose  him  gifted 
with  the  blood  of  the  Bourbons;  she  merely  believed  him 
to  be  a  gentleman;  and  from  the  maternal  manner  of 
Lady  Tinemouth  toward  him,  she  suspected  that  her  lady- 
ship knew  more  of  his  history  than  she  chose  to  reveal. 

Things  were  in  this  state,  when  the  countess  requested 
that  Miss  Dorothy  would  allow  her  niece  to  make  one  in 
her  party  to  the  Haymarket  Theater.  The  good  lady  hav- 
ing consented,  Miss  Beaufort  received  the  permission  with 
pleasure;  and  as  she  was  to  sup  in  Grosvenor  Place,  she 
ventured  to  hope  that  something  might  fall  from  her  host- 
ess or  Miss  Egerton  which  would  throw  a  light  on  the  true 
situation  of  Mr.  Constantine. 

From  infancy  Miss  Beaufort  had  loved  with  enthusiasm 
all  kinds  of  excellence.  Indeed,  she  esteemed  no  person 
warmly  whom  she  did  not  think  exalted  by  their  virtues 
above  the  common  race  of  mankind.  She  sought  for 
something  to  respect  in  every  character;  and  when  she 
found  anything  to  greatly  admire,  her  ardent  soul  blazed, 
and  by  its  own  pure  flame  lit  her  to  a  closer  inspection  of 
the  object  about  whom  she  had  become  more  than  usually 
interested. 

In  former  years  Lady  Somerset  collected  all  the  virtue 
and  talent  in  the  country  around  her  table,  and  it  was 
now  found  that  they  were  not  brought  there  on  a  vain 
errand.  From  them  Miss  Beaufort  gathered  her  best  les- 
sons in  conduct  and  taste,  and  from  them  her  earliest  per- 
ceptions of  friendship.  Mary  was  the  beloved  pupil  and 
respected  friend  of  the  brightest  characters  in  England ; 
and  though  some  of  them  were  men  who  had  not  passed 
the  age  of  forty,  she  never  had  been  in  love,  nor  had  she 
mistaken  the  nature  of  her  esteem  so  far  as  to  call  it  by 
that  name.  Hence  she  was  neither  afraid  nor  ashamed 
to  acknowledge  a  correspondence  she  knew  to  be  her 
highest  distinction.  But  had  the  frank  and  innocent 
Mary  exhibited  half  the  like  attentions  which  she  paid  to 
these  men  in  one  hour  to  the  common  class  of  young  men 
through  the  course  of  a  month,  they  would  have  declared 
that  the  poor  girl  was  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with 
them,  and  have  pitied  what  they  would  have  justly  de- 
nominated her  folly.     Foolish  must  that  woman  be  who 


238  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

would  sacrifice  the  most  precious  gift  in  her  possession— 
her  heart — to  the  superficial  graces  or  empty  blandishments 
of  a  self-idolized  coxcomb ! 

Such  a  being  was  not  Mary  Beaufort;  and  on  these  prin- 
ciples she  contemplated  the  extraordinary  fine  qualities 
she  saw  in  the  exiled  Thaddeus  with  an  interest  honorable 
to  her  penetration  and  her  heart. 

When  Miss  Egerton  called  with  Lady  Sara  Ross  to  take 
Miss  Beaufort  to  the  Haymarket,  Mary  was  not  displeased 
at  seeing  Mr.  Constantine  step  out  of  the  carriage  to  hand 
her  in.  During  their  drive,  Miss  Egerton  informed  her 
that  Lady  Tinemouth  had  been  suddenly  seized  with  a 
headache,  but  that  Lady  Sara  had  kindly  undertaken  to 
be  their  chaperon,  and  had  promised  to  return  with  them 
to  sup  in  Grosvenor  Place. 

Lady  Sara  had  never  seen  Mary,  though  she  had  fre- 
quently heard  of  her  beauty  and  vast  fortune.  This  last 
qualification  her  ladyship  hoped  might  have  given  an  un- 
merited eclat  to  the'first;  therefore  when  she  saw  in  Miss 
Beaufort  the  most  beautiful  creature  she  had  ever  beheld, 
nothing  could  equal  her  surprise  and  vexation. 

The  happy  luster  that  beamed  in  the  fine  eyes  of  Mary 
shone  like  a  vivifying  influence  around  her;  a  bright  glow 
animated  her  cheek,  while  a  pleasure  for  which  she  did 
not  seek  to  account  bounded  at  her  heart,  and  modulated 
every  tone  of  her  voice  to  sweetness  and  enchantment. 

"Siren!"  thought  Lady  Sara,  withdrawing  her  large 
dark  eyes  from  her  face,  and  turning  them  full  of  dissolv- 
ing languor  upon  Thaddeus;  "here  are  all  thy  charms 
directed!"  then  drawing  a  sigh,  so  deep  that  it  made  her 
neighbor  start,  she  fixed  her  eyes  on  her  fan,  and  never 
looked  up  again  until  they  had  reached  the  playhouse. 

The  curtain  was  raised  as  the  little  party  seated  them- 
selves in  the  box. 

"Can  anybody  tell  me  what  the  play  is?"  asked  Lady 

Sara. 

"I  never  thought  of  inquiring,"  replied  Sophia. 

"I  looked  in  the  newspaper  this  morning,"  said  Miss 
Beaufort,  "and  I  think  it  is  called  'Sighs'— a  translation 
from  a  drama  of  Kotzebue's." 

"A  strange  title!"  was  the  general  observation.  When 
Mr.  Suett,  who  personated  one  of  the  characters,  began 
to  speak,  their  attention  was  summoned  to  the  stage. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  J*30 

On  the  entrance  of  Mr.  Charles  Kemble  in  the  charac- 
ter of  Adelbert,  the  connt  unconsciously  turned  pale.  He 
perceived  by  the  dress  of  the  actor  that  he  was  to  personate 
a  Pole;  and  alarmed  at  the  probability  of  seeing  something 
to  recall  recollections  which  he  had  striven  to  banish,  his 
agitation  did  not  allow  him  to  hear  anything  that  was  said 
for  some  minutes. 

Miss  Egerton  was  not  so  tardy  in  the  use  of  her  eyes 
and  ears;  and  stretching  out  her  hand  to  the  back  of  the 
box,  where  Thaddeus  was  standing  by  Lady  Sara's  chair, 
she  caught  hold  of  his  sleeve. 

'There,  Mr.  Constantine!"  cried  she;  "look  at  Adel- 
bert! that  is  exactly  the  figure  you  cut  in  your  outlandish 
gear  two  months  ago." 

Thaddeus  bowed  with  a  forced  smile,  and  glancing  at 
the  stage,  replied: 

"Then,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  I  regret  having  fol- 
lowed a  lady's  advice;  I  think  I  must  have  lost  by  the 
change." 

"Yes,"  rejoined  she,  "you  have  lost  much  fur  and 
much  embroidery,  but  you  now  look  much  more  like  a 
Christian." 

The  substance  of  these  speeches  was  not  lost  on  Mary, 
who  continued  with  redoubling  interest  to  mark  the 
changes  his  countenance  underwent  along  with  the  scene. 
As  she  sat  forward,  by  a  slight  turn  of  the  head  she  could 
discern  the  smallest  fluctuation  in  his  features,  and  they 
were  not  a  few.  Placing  himself  at  the  back  of  Lady 
Sara's  chair,  he  leaned  over,  with  his  soul  set  in  his  eye, 
watching  every  motion  of  Mr.  Charles  Kemble. 

Mary  knew,  by  some  accidental  words  from  Lady  Tine- 
mouth,  that  Constantine  was  a  Polander,  and  the  surmise 
she  had  entertained  of  his  being  unfortunate  received  full 
corroboration  at  the  scene  in  which  Adelbert  is  grossly  in- 
sulted by  the  rich  merchant.  During  the  whole  of  it, 
she  scarcely  dared  trust  her  eyes  toward  Constantine's 
flushed  and  agitated  face. 

The  interview  between  Adelbert  and  Leopold  com- 
menced. AVhen  the  former  was  describing  his  country's 
miseries  with  his  own,  Thaddeus  unable  to  bear  it  longer, 
unobserved  by  any  but  Mary,  drew  back  into  the  box.  In 
a  moment  or  two  afterward  Mr.  Charles  Kemble  made  the 
following  reply  to  an  observation  of  Leopold's,  that 
"poverty  is  no  dishonor:" 


240  THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW. 

"Certainly  none  tome!  To  Poland,  to  my  struggling 
country,  I  sacrificed  my  wealth,  as  I  would  have  sacrificed 
my  life  if  she  had  required  it.  My  country  is  no  more; 
and  we  are  wanderers  on  a  burdened  earth,  finding  no 
refuge  but  in  the  hearts  of  the  humane  and  virtuous." 

The  passion  and  force  of  these  words  could  not  fail  of 
reaching  the  ears  of  Thaddeus.  Mary's  attention  followed 
them  to  their  object,  by  the  heaving  of  whose  breast  she 
plainly  discovered  the  anguish  of  their  effect.  Her  heart 
beat  with  increased  violence.  How  willingly  would  she 
have  approached  him,  and  said  something  of  sympathy, 
of  consolation!  but  she  durst  not;  and  she  turned  away 
her  tearful  eye  and  looked  again  toward  the  stage. 

Lady  Sara  now  stood  up,  and  hanging  over  Mary's 
chair,  listened  with  congenial  emotions  to  the  scene  be- 
tween Adelbert  and  the  innocent  Rose.  Lady  Sara  felt  it 
all  in  her  own  bosom;  and  looking  round  to  catch  what 
was  passing  in  the  count's  mind,  she  beheld  him  leaning 
against  the  box,  with  his  head  inclined  to  the  curtain  of 
the  door.  "Mr.  Constantine!"  almost  unconsciously 
escaped  her  lips.  He  started,  and  discovered  by  the 
humidity  on  his  eyelashes  why  he  had  withdrawn.  Her 
ladyship's  tears  were  gliding  down  her  cheeks.  Miss 
Egerton,  greatly  amazed  at  the  oddness  of  this  closet 
scene,  turned  to  Miss  Beaufort,  who  a  moment  before 
having  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  distressed  countenance  of 
the  count,  could  only  bow  her  head  to  Sophia's  sportive 
observation. 

Who  is  there  that  can  enter  into  the  secret  folds  of  the 
heart  and  know  all  its  miseries?  Who  participate  in  that 
joy  which  dissolves  and  rarefies  man  to  the  essence  of 
heaven?  Soul  must  mingle  with  soul,  and  the  ethereal 
voice  of  spirits  must  speak  before  these  things  can  be  com- 
prehended. 

Eeady  to  suffocate  with  the  emotions  she  repelled  from 
her  eyes,  Mary  gladly  affected  to  be  absorbed  in  the  busi- 
ness of  the  stage  (not  one  object  of  which  she  now  saw), 
and  with  breathless  attention  lost  not  one  soft  whisper 
which  Lady  Sara  poured  into  the  ear  of  Thaddeus. 

"Why,"  asked  her  ladyship,  in  a  tremulous  and  low 
tone,  "why  should  we  seek  ideal  sorrows,  when  those  of 
our  own  hearts  are  beyond  alleviation?  Happy  Ilose!" 
sighed  her  ladyship.     "Mr.  Constantine,"  continued  she, 


TEA DD KUS'OF  WA BSA  TFf  24 1 

"do  not  yon  think  that  Adelbert  is  consoled,  at  least,  by 
the  affection  of  that  lovely  woman?" 

Like  Miss  Beaufort,  Constantine  had  hitherto  replied 
with  bows  only. 

"Come,"  added  Lady  Sara,  laying  her  soft  hand  on  his 
arm,  and  regarding  him  with  a  look  of  tenderness  so  un- 
equivocal that  he  cast  his  eyes  to  the  ground,  while  its 
sympathy  really  touched  his  heart.  "Come,"  repeated 
;she,  animated  by  the  faint  color  which  tinged  his  cheek; 
"you  know  that  I  have  the  care  of  this  party,  and  I  must 
not  allow  our  only  cavalier  to  be  melancholy." 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Lady  Sara,"  returned  he,  grate- 
fully pressing  the  hand  that  yet  rested  on  his  arm;  "I  am 
not  very  well.     I  wish  that  I  had  not  seen  this  play." 

Lady  Sara  sank  into  the  seat  from  which  she  had  risen. 
He  had  never  before  taken  her  hand,  except  when  assist- 
ing her  to  her  carriage;  this  pressure  shook  her  very  soul, 
and  awakened  hopes  which  rendered  her  for  a  moment 
incapable  of  sustaining  herself  or  venturing  a  reply. 

There  was  something  in  the  tones  of  Lady  Sara's  voice 
and  in  her  manner  far  more  expressive  than  her  words; 
mutual  sighs  which  breathed  from  her  ladyship's  bosom 
and  that  of  Thaddeus  as  they  sat  down,  made  a  cold 
shiver  run  from  the  head  to  the  foot  of  Miss  Beaufort. 
Mary's  surprise  at  the  meaning  of  this  emotion  caused  a 
second  tremor,  and  with  a  palpitating  heart  she  asked 
herself  a  few  questions. 

Could  this  interesting  young  man,  whom  every  person 
of  sense  appeared  to  esteem  and  respect,  sully  his  virtues 
by  participating  in  a  passion  with  a  married  woman? 
No;  it  was  impossible. 

Notwithstanding  this  decision,  so  absolute  in  his  excul- 
pation, her  pure  heart  felt  a  trembling,  secret  resolve, 
"even  for  the  sake  of  the  honor  of  human  nature"  (she 
whispered  to  herself),  to  observe  him  so  hereafter  as  to  be 
convinced  of  the  real  worth  of  his  principles  before  she 
would  allow  any  increase  of  the  interest  his  apparently 
reversed  fate  had  created  in  her  compassionate  bosom. 

What  might  be  altogether  the  extent  of  that  "reversed 
fate,"  she  could  form  no  idea.  For  though  she  had  heard, 
in  common  with  the  rest  of  the  general  society,  of  the 
recent  "melancholy  fate  of  Poland,"  she  knew  little  of 
its  particulars,  politics  of  every  kind,  and  especially  about 


242  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

foreign  places,  being  an  interdicted  snbject  in  the  draw- 
ing-rooms of  Sir  Eobert  Somerset.  Therefore  the  simply 
noble  mind  of  Mary  thought  more  of  the  real  nobility  that 
might  dwell  in  the  soul  of  this  expatriated  son  of  that 
country  than  of  the  possible  appendages  of  rank  he  might 
have  left  there. 

With  her  mind  full  of  these  reflections,  she  awaited  the 
farce  without  observing  it  when  it  appeared.  Indeed, 
none  of  the  party  knew  anything  about  the  piece  (to  see 
which  they  had  professedly  come  to  the  theater)  excepting 
Miss  Egerton,  whose  ever  merry  spirits  had  enjoyed  alone 
the  humor  of  Toturn  in  the  play,  and  who  now  laughed 
heartily,  though  unaccompanied,  through  the  ridiculous 
whims  of  the  farce. 

Nothing  that  passed  could  totally  disengage  the  mind 
of  Thaddeus  from  those  remembrances  which  the  re- 
cent drama  had  aroused.  When  the  melting  voice  of 
Lady  Sara,  in  whispers,  tried  to  recall  his  attention,  by 
a  start  only  did  he  evince  his  recollection  of  not  being 
alone.  Sensible,  however,  to  the  kindness  of  her  motive, 
he  exerted  himself;  and  by  the  time  the  curtain  dropped, 
he  had  so  far  rallied  his  presence  of  mind  as  to  be  able  to 
attend  to  the  civility  of  seeing  the  ladies  safe  out  of  the 
theater. 

Miss  Egerton,  laughing  as  he  assisted  her  into  the  car- 
riage, said,  "I  verily  believe,  Mr.  Constantine,  had  I 
glanced  round  during  the  play,  I  should  have  seen  as 
pretty  a  lachrymal  scene  between  you  and  Lady  Sara  as 
any  on  the  stage.  I  won't  have  this  flirting!  I  declare 
I  will  tell  Captain  Eoss " 

She  continued  talking,  but  turning  about  to  offer  his 
service  to  Miss  Beaufort,  he  heard  no  more. 

Miss  Beaufort,  however  self-composed  in  thought,  felt 
strangely :  she  felt  cold  and  reserved ;  and  undesignedly 
she  appeared  what  she  felt.  There  was  a  grave  dignity  in 
her  air,  accompanied  with  a  collectedness  and  stillness  in 
her  before  animated  countenance,  which  astonished  and 
chilled  Thaddeus,  though  she  had  bowed  her  head  and 
given  him  her  hand  to  put  her  into  the  coach. 

On  their  way  home  Miss  Egerton  ran  over  the  merits  of 
the  play  and  farce;  rallied  Thaddeus  on  the  "tall  Pole," 
which  she  threatened  should  be  his  epithet  whenever  he 
offended  her;  and  then,  flying  from  subject  to  subject, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  243 

talked  herself  and  her  hearers  so  weary,  that  they  inter- 
nally rejoiced  when  the  carriage  stopped  in  Grosvenor 
Place. 

After  they  had  severally  paid  their  respects  to  Lady 
Tinemonth,  who,  being  indisposed,  was  lying  on  the  sofa, 
she  desired  Thaddeus  to  draw  a  chair  near  her. 

"I  want  to  learn,"  said  she,  "what  you  think  of  our 
English  theater." 

"Prithee,  don't  ask  him!"  cried  Miss  Egerton,  pouring 
out  a  glass  of  water;  "we  have  seen  a  tremendous  brother 
Pole  of  his,  who  I  believe  has  'hopped  off'  with  all  his 
spirits!  Why,  he  has  been  looking  as  rueful  as  a  half- 
drowned  man  all  the  night;  and  as  for  Lady  Sara,  and  I 
could  vow  Miss  Beaufort,  too,  they  have  been  two  ISTiobes 
—'all  tears.'  So,  good  folks,  I  must  drink  better  health 
to  you,  to  save  myself  from  the  vapors." 

"What  is  all  this,  Mr.  Constantine?"  asked  the  count- 
ess, addressing  Thaddeus,  whose  eyes  had  glanced  with  a 
ray  of  delighted  surprise  on  the  blushing  though  dis- 
pleased face  of  Miss  Beaufort. 

"My  weakness,"  replied  he,  commanding  down  a  rising 
tremor  in  his  voice,  and  turning  to  her  ladyship;  "the 
play  relates  to  a  native  of  Poland,  one  who,  like  myself, 
an  exile  in  a  strange  land,  is  subjected  to  sufferings  and 
contumelies  the  bravest  spirits  may  find  hard  to  bear. 
Any  man  may  combat  misery;  but  even  the  most  intrepid 
will  shrink  from  insult.  This,  I  believe,  is  the  sum  of  the 
story.  Its  resemblance  in  some  points  to  my  own  affected 
me;  and,"  added  he,  looking  gratefully  at  Lady  Sara, 
and  timidly  toward  Miss  Beaufort,  "if  these  ladies  have 
sympathized  with  emotions  against  which  I  strove,  but 
could  not  entirely  conceal,  I  owe  to  it  the  sweetest  conso- 
lation now  in  the  power  of  fate  to  bestow." 

"Poor  Constantine!"  cried  Sophia  Egerton,  patting  his 
head  with  one  hand,  while  with  the  other  she  wiped  a 
tear  from  her  always  smiling  eye,  "forgive  me  if  I  have 
hurt  you.  I  like  you  vastly,  though  I  must  now  and  then 
laugh  at  you;  you  know  I  hate  dismals,  so  let  this  tune 
enliven  us  all!"  and  flying  to  her  piano,  she  played  and 
sang  two  or  three  merry  airs,  till  the  countess  commanded 
her  to  the  supper-table. 

At  this  most  sociable  repast  of  the  whole  day,  cheerful- 
ness seemed    again    to   disperse   the    gloom   which   had 


244  TSADBKUB  OF  WAMSA  W. 

threatened  the  circle.  Thaddens  set  the  example.  His 
unrestrained  and  elegant  conversation  acquired  new  pathos 
from  the  anguish  that  was  driven  back  to  his  heart;  like 
the  beds  of  rivers,  which  infuse  their  own  nature  with  the 
current,  his  hidden  grief  imparted  an  indescribable  interest 
and  charm  to  all  his  sentiments  and  actions.* 

Mary  now  beheld  him  in  his  real  character.  Un- 
molested by  the  haughty  presence  of  Miss  Dundas,  he  be- 
came unreserved,  intelligent,  and  enchanting.  He  seemed 
master  of  every  subject  talked  on,  and  discoursed  on  all 
with  a  grace  which  corroborated  her  waking  visions  that 
he  was  as  some  bright  star  fallen  from  his  sphere. 

With  the  increase  of  Miss  Beaufort's  admiration  of  the 
count's  fine  talents,  she  gradually  lost  the  recollection  of 
what  had  occupied  her  mind  relative  to  Lady  Sara;  and 
her  own  beautiful  countenance  dilating  into  confidence 
and  delight,  the  evening  passed  away  with  chastened 
pleas  are,  until  the  little  party  separated  for  their  several 
homes. 

Lady  Tinemouth  was  more  than  ever  fascinated  by  the 
lovely  Miss  Beaufort.  Miss  Beaufort  was  equally  pleased 
with  the  animation  of  the  countess;  but  when  she  thought 
on  Thaddeus,  she  was  surprised,  interested,  absorbed. 

Lady  Sara  Boss'  reflections  were  not  less  delightful. 
She  dwelt  with  redoubled  passion  on  that  look  from  the 
count's  eyes,  that  touch  of  his  hand,  which  she  thought 
were  signs  of  a  reciprocal  awakened  flame.  Both  actions 
were  forgotten  by  him  the  moment  after  they  were  com- 
mitted; yet  he  was  not  ungrateful;  but  while  he  acknowl- 
edged her  generous  sympathy  at  that  time,  he  could  not 
but  see  that  she  was  straying  to  the  verge  of  a  precipice 
which  no  thoroughly  virtuous  woman  should  ever  venture 
to  approach. 

He  found  a  refuge  from  so  painful  a  meditation  in  the 
idea  of  the  ingenuous  Mary,  on  whose  modest  counte- 
nance virtue  seemed  to  have  "set  her  seal."  While  recol- 
lecting the  pitying  kindness  of  her  voice  and  looks,  his 
heart  owned  the  empire  of  purity,  and  in  the  contempla- 
tion of  her  unaffected  excellence,  he  the  more  deplored  the 
witcheries  of  Lady  Sara,  and  the  dangerous  uses  to  »vhich 
her  impetuous  feelings  addressed  them. 

*  When  this  was  written  (in  the  year  1804)  domestic  hours  were 
earlier;  and  the  "  supper  hour  "  had  noi  then  dissipation  and  broken 
jest  for  a  consequence* 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW  245 

CHAPTEK   XXIX. 

HYDE     PAKK. 

Next  morning,  when  Thaddeus  approached  the  gen- 
eral's bed  to  give  him  his  coffee,  he  found  him  feverish, 
and  his  mind  more  than  usually  unsettled. 

The  count  awaited  with  anxiety  the  arrival  of  the  benevo- 
lent Cavendish,  whom  he  expected.  When  he  appeared, 
he  declared  his  increased  alarm.  Dr.  Cavendish  having 
felt  the  patient's  pulse,  expressed  a  wish  that  he  could  be 
induced  to  take  a  little  exercise.  Thaddeus  had  often 
urged  this  necessity  to  his  friend,  but  met  with  constant 
refusals.  He  hopelessly  repeated  the  entreaty  now,  when, 
to  his  surprise  and  satisfaction,  the  old  man  instantly  con- 
sented. 

Having  seen  him  comfortably  dressed  (for  the  count 
attended  to  these  minutiae  with  the  care  of  a  son),  the 
doctor  said  they  must  ride  with  him  to  Hyde  Park,  where 
he  would  put  them  out  to  walk  until  he  had  made  a  visit 
to  Piccadilly,  whence  he  would  return  and  take  them 
home. 

The  general  not  only  expressed  pleasure  at  the  drive, 
but  as  the  air  was  warm  and  balmy,  (it  being  about  the 
beginning  of  June),  he  made  no  objection  to  the  proposed 
subsequent  walk. 

He  admired  the  park,  the  Serpentine  River,  the  cottages 
on  its  bank,  and  seemed  highly  diverted  by  the  horsemen 
and  carriages  in  the  ring.  The  pertinence  of  his  remarks 
afforded  Thaddeus  a  ray  of  hope  that  his  senses  had  not 
entirely  lost  their  union  with  reason;  and  with  awakened 
confidence  he  was  contemplating  what  might  be  the  happy 
effects  of  constant  exercise,  when  the  general's  complaints 
of  weariness  obliged  him  to  stop  near  Piccadilly  Gate,  and 
wait  the  arrival  of  the  doctor's  coach. 

He  was  standing  against  the  railing,  supporting  Butzou, 
and  with  his  hat  in  his  hand  shading  his  aged  friend's  face 
from  the  sun,  when  two  or  three  carriages  driving  in,  he 
met  the  eyes  of  Miss  Euphemia  Dundas,  who,  pulling  the 
check-string,  exclaimed,  "Bless  me,  Mr.  Constantine! 
Who  expected  to  see  you  here?  Why,  your  note  told  us 
you  were  confined  with  a  sick  friend." 


246  TBADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Thaddeus  bowed  to  her,  and  still  sustaining  the  debili- 
tated frame  of  the  general  on  his  arm,  advanced  to  the 
side  of  the  coach.  Miss  Beaufort,  who  now  looked  out, 
expressed  her  hope  that  his  invalid  was  better. 

"This  is  the  friend  I  mentioned,"  said  the  count,  turn- 
ing his  eyes  on  the  mild  features  of  Butzou;  "his  physi- 
cian having  ordered  him  to  walk,  I  accompanied  him 
hither." 

"Dear  me!  how  ill  you  look,  sir,"  cried  Euphemia, 
addressing  the  poor  invalid;  "but  you  are  attended  by  a 
kind  friend." 

"My  dear  lord!"  exclaimed  the  old  man,  not  regarding 
what  she  said,  "I  must  go  home.  I  am  tired;  pray  call 
up  the  carriage." 

Euphemia  was  again  opening  her  mouth  to  speak,  but 
Miss  Beaufort,  perceiving  a  look  of  distress  in  the  ex- 
pressive features  of  Thaddeus,  interrupted  her  by  saying, 
"Good-morning,  Mr.  Constantine.  I  know  we  detain 
you  and  oppress  that  gentleman,  whose  pardon  we  ought 
to  beg."  She  bowed  her  head  to  the  general,  whose  white 
hairs  wefre  blowing  about  his  face,  as  he  attempted  to  pull 
the  count  toward  the  pathway. 

"My  friend  cannot  thank  you,  kind  Miss  Beaufort," 
cried  Thaddeus,  with  a  look  of  gratitude  that  called  the 
brightest  roses  to  her  cheeks;  "but  I  do  from  my  heart!" 

"Here  it  is!  Pray,  my  dear  lord,  come  along!"  cried 
Butzou.  Thaddeus,  seeing  that  his  information  was  right, 
bowed  to  the  ladies,  and  their  carriage  drove  off. 

Though  the  wheels  of  Lady  Dundas'  coach  rolled  away 
from  the  retreating  figures  of  Thaddeus  and  his  friend,  the 
images  of  both  occupied  the  meditations  of  Euphemia  and 
Miss  Beaufort  while,  tete-a-tete  and  in  silence,  they  made 
the  circuit  of  the  park. 

When  the  carriage  again  passed  the  spot  on  which  the 
subject  of  their  thoughts  had  stood,  Mary  almost  mechan- 
ically looked  out  toward  the  gate. 

"Is  he  gone  yet?"  asked  Euphemia,  sighing  deeply. 

Mary  drew  in  her  head  with  the  quickness  of  conscious 
guilt;  and  while  a  color  stained  her  face,  which  of  itself 
might  have  betrayed  her  prevarication,  she  asked,  "Who?" 

"Mr.  Constantine,"  replied  Euphemia,  with  a  second 
sigh.  "Did  you  remark,  Mary,  how  gracefully  he  sup- 
ported that  sick  old  gentleman?     Was  it  not  the  very  per- 


TttAlWRUB  OF  WARSAW.  %tf 

Bonification  of  Youth  upholding  the  fainting  steps  of  Age? 
He  put  me  in  mind  of  the  charming  yonng  prince, 
whose  name  I  forget,  leading  the  old  Belisarius. 

''Yes,"  returned  Mary,  ashamed  of  the  momentary  in- 
sincerity couched  in  her  former  uncertain  replying  word, 
"Who?"  yet  still  adding,  while  trying  to  smile,  "but 
some  people  might  call  our  ideas  enthusiasm." 

"So  all  tell  me,"  replied  Euphemia;  "so  all  say  who 
neither  possess  the  sensibility  nor  the  candor  to  allow  that 
great  merit  may  exist  without  being  associated  with  great 
rank.  Yet,"  cried  she,  in  a  more  animated  tone,  "I  have 
my  doubts,  Mary,  of  his  being  what  he  seems.  Did  you 
observe  the  sick  gentleman  call  him  My  lord9" 

"I  did,"  returned  Mary,  "and  I  was  not  surprised. 
Such  manners  as  Mr.  Constan tine's  are  not  to  be  acquired 
in  a  cottage." 

"Dear,  dear  Mary!"  cried  Euphemia,  flinging  her  ivory 
arms  round  her  neck;  "how  I  love  you  for  these  words! 
You  are  generous,  you  think  nobly,  and  I  will  no  longer 

hesitate  to — to "      And  breaking  off,  she  hid  her  head 

in  Miss  Beaufort's  bosom. 

Mary's  heart  throbbed,  her  cheeks  grew  pale,  and 
almost  unconsciously  she  wished  to  stop  the  tide  of  Miss 
Dundas'  confidence. 

"Dear  Euphemia!"  answered  she,  "your  regard  for 
this  interesting  exile  is  very  praiseworthy.     But  beware 

of "     She  hesitated;  a  remorseful  twitch  in  her  own 

breast  stayed  the  warning  that  was  rising  to  her  tongue; 
and  blushing  at  a  motive  she  could  not  at  the  instant 
assign  to  friendship,  selfishness,  or  to  any  interest  she 
would  not  avow  to  herself,  she  touched  the  cheek  of 
Euphemia  with  her  quivering  lips. 

Euphemia  had  finished  the  sentence  for  her,  and  raising 
her  head,  exclaimed,  "What  should  I  fear  in  esteeming 
Mr.  Constan  tine?  Is  he  not  the  most  captivating  crea- 
ture in  the  world?  And  for  his  person!  Oh,  Mary,  he  is 
so  beautiful  that  when  the  library  is  filled  with  the  hand- 
somest men  in  town,  the  moment  Constantine  enters,  their 
reign  is  over.  I  compare  them  with  his  godlike  figure, 
and  I  feel  as  one  looking  at  the  sun ;  all  other  objects 
appear  dim  and  shapeless." 

"I  hope,"  returned  Mary,  pressing  her  own  forehead 
with  her  hand,  her  head  beginning  to  ache  strangely, 


248  TEA  D DEUS  OF  WA  RSA  W. 

"that  Mr.  Constantine  does  not  owe  your  friendship  to  his 
fine  person.  I  think  his  mental  qualities  are  more  deserv- 
ing of  such  a  gift." 

"Don't  look  so  severe,  dear  Mary!"  cried  Miss  Dundas, 
observing  her  contracting  brow;  "are  you  displeased 
with  me?" 

Mary's  displeasure  was  at  the  austerity  of  her  own 
words,  and  not  at  her  auditor.  Kaising  her  eyes  with  a 
smile,  she  gently  replied,  "I  do  not  mean,  my  dear  girl, 
to  be  severe;  but  I  would  wish,  for  the  honor  of  our  sex, 
that  the  objects  which  attract  either  our  love  or  our  com- 
passion should  have  something  more  precious  than  mere 
exterior  beauty  to  engage  our  interest." 

"Well,  I  will  soon  be  satisfied,"  cried  Euphemia,  in  a 
gayer  tone,  as  they  drove  through  Grosvenor  Gate;  "we 
all  know  that  Constantine  is  sensible  and  accomplished: 
he  writes  poetry  like  an  angel,  both  in  French  and  Italian. 
I  have  hundreds  of  mottoes  composed  by  him;  one  of 
them,  Mary,  is  on  the  work-box  I  gave  you  yesterday; 
and,  what  is  more,  I  will  ask  him  to-morrow  why  that  old 
gentleman  called  him  my  lord.  If  he  be  a  lord!"  ex- 
claimed she. 

"What  then?"  inquired  the  eloquent  eyes  of  Mary. 

"Don't  look  so  impertinent,  my  dear,"  cried  the  now 
animated  beauty:  "I  positively  won't  say  another  word  to 
you  to-day." 

Miss  Beaufort's  headache  became  so  painful,  she  rejoiced 
when  Euphemia  ceased  and  the  carriage  drew  up  to  Lady 
Dundas'  door. 

A  night  of  almost  unremitted  sleep  performed  such  good 
effects  on  the  general  condition  of  General  Butzou  that 
Dr.  Cavendish  thought  his  patient  so  much  better  as  to 
sanction  his  hoping  the  best  consequences  from  a  frequent 
repetition  of  air  and  exercise.  When  the  drive  and  walk 
had  accordingly  been  repeated  the  following  day,  Thaddeus 
left  his  friend  to  his  maps,  and  little  Nanny's  attendance, 
and  once  more  took  the  way  to  Harley  Street. 

He  found  only  Miss  Dundas  with  her  sister  in  the  study. 
Mary  (against  her  will,  which  she  opposed  because  it  was 
her  will)  had  gone  out  shopping  with  Miss  Dorothy  and 
Lady  Dundas. 

Miss  Dundas  left  the  room  the  moment  she  had  finished 
her  lessons. 


TEA  DDEUS  OF  WA  RSA  W.  240 

Delighted  at  being  tcte-a-tcte  with  the  object  of  her 
romantic  fancies,  Euphemia  forgot  that  she  was  to  act  the 
retreating  character  of  Madame  d'Arblay's  heroine;  and 
shutting  her  book  the  instant  Diana  disappeared,  all  at 
once  opened  her  attack  on  his  confidence. 

To  her  eager  questions,  which  the  few  words  of  the  gen- 
eral had  excited,  the  count  afforded  no  other  reply  than 
that  his  poor  friend  knew  not  what  he  said,  having  been  a 
long  time  in  a  state  of  mental  derangement. 

This  explanation  caused  a  momentary  mortification  in 
the  imaginative  Euphemia;  but  her  busy  mind  was  nimble 
in  its  erection  of  airy  castles,  and  she  rallied  in  a  moment 
with  the  idea  that  "he  might  be  more  than  a  lord."  At 
any  rate,  let  him  be  what  he  may,  he  charmed  her;  and 
he  had  much  ado  to  parry  the  increasing  boldness  of  her 
speeches,  without  letting  her  see  they  were  understood. 

"You  are  very  diffident,  Mr.  Constantine,"  cried  she, 
looking  down.  "If  I  consider  you  worthy  of  my  friend- 
ship, why  should  you  make  disqualifying  assertions?" 

"Every  man,  madam,"  returned  Thaddeus,  bowing  as 
he  rose  from  his  chair,  "must  be  diffident  of  deserving 
the  honor  of  your  notice." 

"There  is  no  man  living,"  replied  she,  "to  whom  I 
Would  offer  my  friendship  but  yourself." 

Thaddeus  bit  his  lip;  he  knew  not  what  to  answer. 
Bowing  a  second  time,  he  stretched  out  his  hand  and  drew 
his  hat  toward  him.  Euphemia's  eyes  followed  the  move- 
ment. 

"You  are  in  a  prodigious  haste,  Mr.  Constantine!" 

"I  know  I  intrude,  madam;  and  I  have  promised  to  be 
with  my  sick  friend  at  an  early  hour." 

"Well,  you  may  go,  since  you  are  obliged,"  returned 
the  pretty  Euphemia,  rising,  and  smiling  sweetly  as  she 
laid  one  hand  on  his  arm  and  put  the  other  into  her  tucker. 
She  drew  out  a  little  white  leather  souvenir,  marked  on 
the  back  in  gold  letters  with  the  words  "Toujours  cher;" 
and  slipping  it  into  his  hand,  "There,  receive  that,  mon- 
signor,  or  whatever  else  you  may  be  called,  and  retain  it 
as  the  first  pledge  of  Euphemia  Dundas'  friendship." 

Thaddeus  colored  as  he  took  it;  and  again  having  re- 
course to  the  convenient  reply  of  a  bow,  left  the  room  in 
embarrassed  vexation. 

There  was  an  indelicacy  in  this  absolutely  wooing  con- 


250  TI1ADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

duct  of  Miss  Euphemia  which,  notwithstanding  her  beauty 
and  the  softness  that  was  its  vehicle,  filled  him  with  the 
deepest  disgust.  He  could  not  trace  real  affection  in  her 
words  or  manner;  and  that  any  woman,  instigated  by  a 
mere  whim,  should  lay  aside  the  maidenly  reserves  of  her 
sex,  and  actually  court  his  regard,  surprised  while  it  im- 
pelled him  to  loathe  her. 

They  who  adopt  Euphemia's  sentiments — and,  alas! 
there  are  some — can  be  little  aware  of  the  conclusion 
which  society  infer  from  such  intemperate  behavior.  The 
mistaken  creature  who,  either  at  the  impulsion  of  her  own 
disposition  or  by  the  influence  of  example,  is  induced  to 
despise  the  guard  of  modesty,  literally  "forsakes  the  guide 
of  her  youth,"  and  leaves  herself  open  to  every  attack 
which  man  can  devise  against  her.  By  leveling  the  bar- 
rier raised  by  nature,  she  herself  exposes  the  stronghold 
of  virtue,  and  may  find,  too  late  for  recovery,  that  what 
modesty  has  abandoned  is  not  long  spared  by  honor. 

Euphemia's  affected  attachment  suggested  to  Thaddeus 
a  few  unpleasant  recollections  respecting  the  fervent  and 
unequivocal  passion  of  Lady  Sara.  Though  _  guilty,  it 
sprang  from  a  headlong  ardor  of  disposition  which  formed 
at  once  the  error  and  its  palliation.  He  saw  that  love  was 
not  welcomed  by  her  (at  least  he  thought  so)  as  a  play- 
thing, but  struggled  against  as  with  a  foe.  He  had  wit- 
nessed her  tortures;  he  pitied  them,  and  to  render  her 
happy,  would  gladly  have  made  any  sacrifice  short  of  his 
conscience.  Too  well  assured  of  being  all  the  world  to 
Lady  Sara,  the  belief  that  Miss  Euphemia  liked  him  only 
from  idleness,  caprice,  and  contradiction,  caused  him  to 
repay  her  overtures  with  decided  contempt. 

When  he  arrived  at  home,  he  threw  on  his  table  the 
pocketbook  whose  unambiguous  motto  made  him  scorn 
her,  and  almost  himself  for  being  the  object  of  such  folly. 
Looking  round  his  humble  room,  whose  wicker  chairs, 
oil-cloth  floor,  and  uncurtained  windows,  announced  any- 
thing but  elegance:  "Poor  Euphemia!"  said  he;  "how 
would  you  be  dismayed  were  the  indigent  Constantine  to 
really  take  you  at  your  word,  and  bring  you  home  to  a 
habitation  like  this!" 


THADDKUS  OF  WARSAW.  251 

CHAPTEE   XXX. 

INFLUENCES   OF   CHARACTER. 

The  recital  of  the  preceding  scene,  which  was  com- 
municated to  Miss  Beaufort  by  Euphemia,  fdled  her  with 
still  more  doubting  thoughts. 

Mary  could  discover  no  reason  why  the  old  gentleman's 
mental  derangement  should  dignify  his  friend  with  titles 
he  had  never  borne.  She  remarked  to  herself  that  his 
answer  to  Euphemia  was  evasive;  she  remembered  his 
emotion  and  apology  on  seeing  Mr.  C.  Kemble  as  Adelbert; 
and  uniting  with  these  facts  his  manners  and  acquire- 
ments, so  far  beyond  the  charges  of  any  subordinate  rank, 
she  could  finally  retain  no  doubt  of  his  being  at  least  well 
born. 

Thus  this  mysterious  Constantine  continued  to  occupy 
her  hourly  thoughts  during  the  space  of  two  months,  in 
which  time  she  had  full  opportunity  to  learn  much  of  a 
character  with  whom  she  associated  almost  every  day. 
At  Lady  Tinemouth's  (one  of  whose  evening  guests  she 
frequently  became)  she  beheld  him  disincumbered  of  that 
armor  of  reserve  which  he  usually  wore  in  Harley  Street. 

In  the  circle  of  the  countess,  Mary  saw  him  welcomed 
like  an  idolized  being  before  whose  cheering  influence  all 
frowns  and  clouds  must  disappear.  When  he  entered, 
the  smile  resumed  its  seat  on  the  languid  features  of  Lady 
Tinemouth;  Miss  Egerton's  eye  lighted  up  to  keener 
archness;  Lady  Sara's  Circassian  orbs  floated  in  pleasure; 
and  for  Mary  herself,  her  breast  heaved,  her  cheeks 
glowed,  her  hands  trembled,  a  quick  sigh  fluttered  in  her 
bosom;  and  while  she  remained  in  his  presence,,  she  be- 
lieved that  happiness  had  lost  its  usual  evanescent  prop- 
erty, and  become  tangible,  to  hold  and  press  upon  her 
heart. 

Mary,  who  investigated  the  cause  of  these  tremors  on 
her  pillow,  bedewed  it  with  delicious  though  bitter  tears, 
when  her  alarmed  soul  whispered  that  she  nourished  for 
this  amiable  foreigner  "a  something  than  friendship 
dearer." 

"Ah!  is  it  come  to  this?"  cried  she,  pressing  down  her 
saturated  eyelids  with  her  hand.     "Am  I  at  last  to  love  a 


252  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

man  who,  perhaps,  never  casts  a  thought  on  me?     How 
despicable  shall  I  become  in  my  own  eyes!" 

The  pride  of  woman  puts  this  charge  to  her  taken  heart 
— that  heart  which  seems  tempered  of  the  purest  clay, 
and  warmed  with  the  fire  of  heaven;  that  tender  and  dis- 
interested heart  asks  as  its  appeal,  What  is  love?  Is  it 
not  an  admiration  of  all  that  is  beautiful  in  nature  and 
in  the  soul?  Is  it  not  a  union  of  loveliness  with  truth? 
Is  it  not  a  passion  whose  sole  object  is  the  rapture  of  con- 
templating the  supreme  beauty  of  this  combined  charac- 
ter? 

"Where,  then,"  cried  the  enthusiastic  Mary,  "where  is 
the  shame  that  can  be  annexed  to  my  loving  Constantine? 
If  it  be  honorable  to  love  delineated  excellence,  it  must 
be  equally  so  to  love  it  when  embodied  in  a  human  shape. 
Such  it  is  in  Constantine;  and  if  love  be  the  reflected 
light  of  virtue.  I  may  cease  to  arraign  myself  of  that 
which  otherwise  I  would  have  scorned.  Therefore,  Con- 
stantine," cried  she,  raising  her  clasped  hands,  while  re- 
newed tears  streamed  over  her  face,  "I  will  love  thee!  I 
will  pray  for  thy  happiness,  though  its  partner  should  be 
Euphemia  Dundas." 

Mary's  eager  imagination  would  not  allow  her  to  per- 
ceive those  obstacles  in  the  shapes  of  pride  and  prudence, 
which  would  stand  in  the  way  of  his  obtaining  Enphemia's 
hand;  its  light  showed  to  her  only  a  rival  in  the  person  of 
the  little  beauty;  but  from  her  direct  confidence  she  con- 
tinued to  retreat  with  abhorrence. 

Had  Euphemia  been  more  deserving  of  Constantine, 
Miss  Beaufort  believed  she  would  have  been  less  reluctant 
to  hear  that  she  loved  him.  But  Mary  could  not  avoid 
(Seeing  that  Miss  E.  Dundas  possessed  little  to  insure  con- 
'nubial  comfort,  if  mere  beauty  and  accidental  flights  of 
good  humor  were  not  to  be  admitted  into  the  scale.  She 
was  weak  in  understanding,  timid  in  principle,  absurd  in 
almost  every  opinion  she  adopted ;  and  as  for  love,  true, 
dignified,  respectable  love,  she  knew  nothing  of  the  senti- 
ment. 

While  Miss  Beaufort  meditated  on  this  meager  schedule 
of  her  rival's  merits,  the  probability  that  even  such  a  man 
as  Constantine  might  sacrifice  himself  to  flattery  and  to 
splendor  stung  her  to  the  soul. 

The  more  she  reflected  on  it,  the  more  she  conceived  it 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  253 

possible.  Euphemia  was  considered  a  beauty  of  the  day; 
her  affectation  of  refined  prettiness  pleased  many,  and 
might  charm  Constantine:  she  was  mistress  of  fifty  thou- 
sand pounds,  and  did  not  esteem  it  necessary  to  conceal 
from  her  favorite  the  empire  he  had  acquired.  Perhaps 
there  was  generosity  in  this  openness?  If  so,  what  might 
it  not  effect  on  a  grateful  disposition?  or,  rather  (her 
mortified  heart  murmured  in  the  words  of  her  Aunt 
Dorothy),  "how  might  it  not  operate  on  the  mind  of  one 
of  that  sex,  which,  at  the  best,  is  as  often  moved  by 
caprice  as  by  feeling?" 

Mary  blushed  at  her  adoption  of  this  opinion;  and, 
angry  with  herself  for  the  injustice  which  a  lurking 
jealousy  had  excited  in  her  to  apply  to  Constantine's  noble 
nature,  she  resolved,  whatever  might  be  her  struggles,  to 
promote  his  happiness,  though  even  with  Euphemia,  to 
the  utmost  of  her  power. 

The  next  morning,  when  Miss  Beaufort  saw  the  study 
door  opened  for  her  entrance,  she  found  Mr.  Constantine 
at  his  station,  literally  baited  between  Miss  Dundas  and 
her  honorable  lover.  At  such  moments  Mary  appeared 
the  kindest  of  the  kind.  She  loved  to  see  Constantine 
smile;  and  whenever  she  could  produce  that  effect,  by 
turning  the  spleen  of  these  polite  sneerers  against  them- 
selves, his  smiles,  which  ever  entered  her  heart,  afforded 
her  a  banquet  for  hours  after  his  departure. 

Mary  drew  out  her  netting  (which  was  a  purse  for  Lady 
Tinemouth),  and  taking  a  seat  beside  Euphemia,  united 
with  her  to  occupy  his  attention  entirely,  that  he  might 
not  catch  even  one  of  those  insolent  glances  which  were 
passing  between  Lascelles  and  a  new  visitant,  the  pretty 
Lady  Hilliars. 

This  lady  seemed  to  take  extreme  pleasure  in  accosting 
Thaddeus  by  the  appellation  of  "Friend,"  "My  good 
man,"  "Mr.  What's-your-name,"  and  similar  squibs  of 
insult,  with  which  the  prosperous  assail  the  unfortunate. 
Such  random  shots  they  know  often  inflict  the  most  gall- 
ing wounds. 

However,  "Friend,"  "My  good  man,"  and  "Mr. What's- 
your-name,"  disappointed  this  lady's  small  artillery  of 
effect.  He  seemed  invulnerable  both  to  her  insolence  and 
to  her  affectation;  for  to  be  thought  a  wit,  by  even  Miss 
Dundas' emigrant  tutor,  was  not  to  be  despised ;  though 


254  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

at  the  very  moment  in  which  she  desired  his  admiration, 
she  supposed  her  haughtiness  had  impressed  him  with  a 
proper  sense  of  his  own  meanness  and  a  high  conception 
of  her  dignity. 

She  jumped  about  the  room,  assumed  infantine  airs, 
played  with  Euphemia's  lap-dog,  fondled  it,  seated  herself 
on  the  floor  and  swept  the  carpet  with  her  fine  flaxen 
tresses;  but  she  performed  the  routine  of  captivation  in 
vain.  Thaddeus  recollected  having  seen  this  pretty  full- 
grown  baby,  in  her  peculiar  character  of  a  profligate  wife, 
pawning  her  own  and  her  husband's  property;  he  remem- 
bered this,  and  the  united  shafts  of  her  charms  and  folly 
fell  unnoticed  to  the  ground. 

When  Thaddeus  took  his  leave,  Miss  Beaufort,  as  was 
her  custom,  retired  for  an  hour  to  read  in  her  dressing- 
room,  before  she  directed  her  attention  to  the  toilet.  She 
opened  a  book,  and  ran  over  a  few  pages  of  Madame  de 
Stael's  "Treatise  on  the  Passions;"  but  such  reasoning 
was  too  abstract  for  her  present  frame  of  mind,  and  she 
laid  the  volume  down. 

She  dipped  her  pen  in  the  inkstand.  Being  a  letter  in 
debt  to  her  guardian,  she  thought  she  would  defray  it 
now.     She  accomplished  "My  dear  uncle,"  and  stopped. 

While  she  rested  on  her  elbow,  and,  heedless  of  what 
she  was  doing,  picked  the  feather  of  her  quill  to  pieces, 
no  other  idea  offered  itself  than  the  figure  of  Thaddeus 
sitting  "severe  in  youthful  beauty,"  and  surrounded  by 
the  contumelies  with  which  the  unworthy  hope  to  dis- 
parage the  merit  they  can  neither  emulate  nor  overlook. 

Uneasy  with  herself,  she  pushed  the  table  away,  and, 
leaning  her  cheek  on  her  arm,  gazed  into  the  rainbow 
varieties  of  a  beaupot  of  flowers  which  occupied  the  fire- 
place. Even  their  gay  colors  appeared  to  fade  before  her 
sight,  and  present  to  her  vacaiit  eye  the  form  of  Thaddeus, 
with  the  melancholy  air  which  shaded  his  movements. 
She  turned  round,  but  could  not  disengage  herself  from 
the  spirit  that  was  within  her;  his  half-suppressed  sighs 
seemed  yet  to  thriH  in  her  ear  and  weigh  upon  her  heart. 

"Incomparable  young  man!"  cried  she,  starting  up, 
"why  art  thou  so  wretched?  Oh!  Lady  Tinemouth,  why 
have  you  told  me  of  his  many  virtues?  Why  have  I  con- 
vinced myself  that  what  you  said  is  true?  Oh!  why  waa 
I  formed  to  love  an  excellence  which  I  never  can  ap- 
proach?" 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  255 

The  natural  reply  to  these  self-demanded  questions  sug- 
gesting itself,  she  assented  with  a  tear  to  the  whisperings 
of  her  heart — that  when  cool,  calculating  reason  would 
banish  the  affections,  it  is  incapable  of  filling  their  place. 

She  rang  the  bell  for  her  maid. 

"Marshall,  who  dines  with  Lady  Dundas  to-day?" 

"I  believe,  ma'am,"  replied  the  girl,  "Mr.  Lascelles, 
Lady  Hilliars,  and  the  Marquis  of  Elesmere."  J 

"I  dislike  them  all  three!"  cried  Mary,  with  an  im- 
patience to  which  she  Avas  little  liable;  "dress  me  how 
you  like:  I  am  indifferent  to  my  appearance." 

Marshall  obeyed  the  commands  of  her  lady,  who,  hop- 
ing to  divert  her  thoughts,  took  up  the  poems  of  Egerton 
Brydges.  But  the  attempt  only  deepened  her  emotion, 
for  every  line  in  that  exquisite  little  volume  "gives  a  very 
echo  to  the  seat  where  love  is  throned." 

She  closed  the  book  and  sighed.  Marshall  having  fixed 
the  last  pearl  comb  in  her  mistress'  beautiful  hair,  and 
observing  that  something  was  wrong  that  disquieted  her, 
exclaimed,  "Dear  ma'am,  you  are  so  pale  to-day!  I  wish 
I  might  put  on  some  gayer  ornaments!" 

"No,"  returned  Mary,  glancing  a  look  at  her  languid 
features;  "no,  Marshall:  I  appear  as  well  as  I  desire. 
Any  chance  of  passing  unnoticed  in  company  I  dislike  is 
worth  retaining.  No  one  will  be  here  this  evening  whom 
I  care  to  please." 

She  was  mistaken;  other  company  had  been  invited 
besides  those  whom  the  maid  mentioned.  But  Miss  Beau- 
fort continued  from  seven  o'clock  until  ten,  the  period  at 
which  the  ladies  left  the  table,  the  annoyed  victim  of  the 
insipid  and  pert  compliments  of  Lord  Elesmere. 

Sick  of  his  subjectless  and  dragging  conversation,  she 
gladly  followed  Lady  Dundas  to  the  drawing-room,  where, 
opening  her  knitting  case,  she  took  her  station  in  a  remote 
corner. 

After  half  an  hour  had  elapsed,  the  gentlemen  from 
below,  recruited  by  fresh  company,  thronged  in  fast;  and, 
notwithstanding  it  was  styled  a  family  party,  Miss  Beau- 
fort saw  many  new  faces,  among  whom  she  observed  an 
elderly  clergyman,  who  was  looking  about  for  a  chair. 
The  yawning  Lascelles  threw  himself  along  the  only 
vacant  sofa,  just  as  the  reverend  gentleman  approached  it. 

Miss  Beaufort  immediately  rose,  and  was  moving  on  to 


256  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 

another  room,  when  the  coxcomb,  springing  upy  begged 
permission  to  admire  her  work;  and  without  permission 
taking  it  from  her,  pursued  her,  twisting  the  purse  around 
his  fingers  and  talking  all  the  while. 

Mary  walked  forward,  smiling  with  contempt,  until 
they  reached  the  saloon,  where  the  Misses  Dundas  were 
closely  engaged  in  conversation  with  the  Marquis  of  Eles- 
mere. 

Lascelles,  who  trembled  for  his  Golconda  at  this  sight, 
stepped  briskly  up.  Miss  Beaufort,  who  did  not  wish  to 
lose  sight  of  her  purse  while  in  the  power  of  such  a 
Lothario,  followed  him,  and  placed  herself  against  the 
arm  of  the  sofa  on  which  Euphemia  sat. 

Lascelles  now  bowed  his  scented  locks  to  Diana  in  vain; 
Lord  Elesmere  was  describing  the  last  heat  at  Newmarket, 
and  the  attention  of  neither  lady  could  be  withdrawn. 

The  beau  became  so  irritated  by  the  neglect  of  Euphe- 
mia, and  so  nettled  at  her  sister's  overlooking  him,  that, 
assuming  a  gay  air,  he  struck  Miss  Dundas'  arm  a  smart 
stroke  with  Miss  Beaufort's  purse;  and  laughing,  to  show 
the  strong  opposition  between  his  broad  white  teeth  and 
the  miserable  mouth  of  his  lordly  rival,  hoped  to  alarm 
him  by  his  familiarity,  and  to  obtain  a  triumph  over  the 
ladies  by  degrading  them  in  the  eyes  of  the  peer. 

"Miss  Dundas,"  demanded  he,  "who  was  that  quiz  of 
a  man  in  black  your  sister  walked  with  the  other  day  in 
Portland  Place?" 

"Me!"  cried  Euphemia,  surprised. 

"Ay!"  returned  he;  "I  was  crossing  from  Weymouth 
Street,  when  I  perceived  you  accost  a  strange-looking  per- 
son— a  courier  from  the  moon,  perhaps!  You  may  re- 
member you  sauntered  with  him  as  far  as  Sir  William 
Miller's.  I  would  have  joined  you,  but  seeing  the  family 
standing  in  the  balcony,  I  did  not  wish  them  to  suppose 
that  I  knew  anything  of  such  queer  company." 

"Who  was  it,  Euphemia?"  inquired  Miss  Dundas,  in  a 
severe  tone. 

"I  wonder  he  affects  to  be  ignorant,"  answered  her 
sister  angrily;  "he  knows  very  well  it  was  only  Mr.  Con- 
stantine." 

"And  who  is  Mr.  Constantine?"  demanded  the  marquis. 
Mr.  Lascelles  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"E^faith,  my  lord!    a  fellow  whom  nobody  knows — a 


THADDEU8  OF  WARSA  W.  257 

teacher  of  languages,  giving  himself  the  airs  of  a  prince — 
a  writer  of  poetry,  and  a  man  who  will  draw  you,  your 
house  or  dogs,  if  you  will  pay  him  for  it." 

Mary's  heart  swelled. 

"AVhat,  a  French  emigrant?"  drawled  his  lordship, 
dropping  his  lip;  "and  the  lovely  Euphemia  wishes  to 
soothe  his  sorrows." 

"No,  my  lord,"  stammered  Euphemia,  "he  is — he 
is " 

"What!"  interrupted  Lascelles,  with  a  malicious  grin. 
"A  wandering  beggar,  who  thrusts  himself  into  society 
which  may  some  day  repay  his  insolence  with  chastise- 
ment! And  for  the  people  who  encourage  him,  they  had 
better  beware  of  being  themselves  driven  from  all  good 
company.  Such  confounders  of  degrees  ought  to  be  de- 
graded from  the  rank  they  disgrace.  I  understand  his 
chief  protectress  is  Lady  Tinemouth;  his  second,  Lady 
Sara  Ross,  who,  by  way  of  passant  le  temps,  shows  she  is  not 
quite  inconsolable  at  the  absence  of  her  husband." 

Mary,  pale  and  trembling  at  the  scandal  his  last  words 
insinuated,  opened  her  lips  to  speak,  when  Miss  Dundas 
(whose  angry  eyes  darted  from  her  sister  to  her  lover)  ex- 
claimed, "Mr.  Lascelles,  I  know  not  what  you  mean. 
The  subject  you  have  taken  up  is  below  my  discussion; 
yet  I  must  confess,  if  Euphemia  has  ever  disgraced  her- 
self so  far  as  to  be  seen  walking  with  a  schoolmaster,  she 
deserves  all  you  have  said." 

"And  why  might  I  not  walk  with  him,  sister?"  asked 
the  poor  culprit,  suddenly  recovering  from  her  confusion 
and  looking  pertly  up;  "who  knew  that  he  was  not  a  gen- 
tleman?" 

"Everybody,  ma'am,"  interrupted  Lascelles;  "and 
when  a  young  woman  of  fashion  condescends  to  be  seen 
equalizing  herself  with  a  creature  depending  on  his  wits 
for  support,  she  is  very  likely  to  incur  the  contempt  of  her 
acquaintance  and  the  censure  of  her  friends." 

"She  is,  sir,"  said  Mary,  holding  down  her  indignant 
heart  and  forcing  her  countenance  to  appear  serene;  "for 
she  ought  to  know  that  if  those  men  of  fashion,  who  have 
no  wit  to  be  either  their  support  or  ornament,  did  not 
proscribe  talents  from  'their  circle,  they  must  soon  find 
'the  greater  glory  dim  the  less.'  " 

"True,  madam,"  cried  Lord  Berrington,  who,  having 


258  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

entered  during  the  contest,  had  stood  unobserved  until 
this  moment;  "and  their  gold  and  tinsel  would  prove  but 
dross  and  bubble,  if  struck  by  the  Ithuriel  touch  of  Merit 
when  so  advocated." 

Mary  turned  at  the  sound  of  his  philanthropic  voice, 
and  gave  him  one  of  those  glances  which  go  immediately 
to  the  soul. 

"Come,  Miss  Beaufort,"  cried  he,  taking  her  hand;  "I 
see  the  young  musician  yonder  who  has  so  recently  aston- 
ished the  public.  I  believe  he  is  going  to  sing.  Let  us 
leave  this  discordant  corner,  and  seek  harmony  by  his 

side."  .       , 

Mary  gladly  acceded  to  his  request,  and  seating  herself 
a  few  paces  from  the  musical  party,  Berrington  took  his 
station  behind  her  chair. 

When  the  last  melting  notes  of  "From  shades  of  night" 
died  upon  her  ear,  Mary's  eyes,  full  of  admiration  and 
transport,  which  the  power  of  association  rendered  more 
intense,  remained  fixed  on  the  singer.  Lord  Berrington 
smiled  at  the  vivid  expression  of  her  countenance,  and  as 
the  young  Orpheus  moved  from  the  instrument,  exclaimed, 
"Come,  Miss  Beaufort,  I  won't  allow  you  quite  to  fancy 
Braham  the  god  on  whom 

Enamored  Clitie  turned  and  gazed!  * 

Listen  a  little  to  my  merits.  Do  you  know  that  if  it  were 
not  for  my  timely  lectures,  Lascelles  would  grow  the  most 
insufferable  gossip  about  town?  There  is  not  a  match  nor 
a  divorce  near  St.  James'  of  which  he  cannot  repeat  all 
the  whys  and  wherefores.  I  call  him  Sir  Benjamin  Back- 
bite; and  I  believe  he  hates  me  worse  than  Asmodeus 
himself." 

"Such  a  man's  dislike,"  rejoined  Mary,  "is  the  highest 
encomium  he  can  bestow.  I  never  yet  heard  him  speak 
well  of  any  person  who  did  not  resemble  himself." 

"And  he  is  not  consistent  even  there,"  resumed  the 
viscount:  "I  am  not  sure  I  have  always  heard  him  speak 
in  the  gentlest  terms  of  Miss  Dundas.  Yet,  on  that  I 
cannot  quite  blame  him;  for,  on  my  honor,  she  -provokes 
me  beyond  any  woman  breathing." 

*  This  accomplished  singer  and  composer  still  lives— on«  of  the 
most  admired  afeaments  of  the  British  e?eheetxa.     (1845.) 


THADDEUS  OF  WAIiSA  W.  259 

"Many  women,"  replied  Mary,  smiling,  "would  esteem 
that  a  flattering  instance  of  power." 

"And,  like  everything  that  flatters,"  returned  he,  "it 
would  tell  a  falsehood.  A  shrew  can  provoke  a  man  who 
detests  her.  ±_s  to  Miss  Dundas,  notwithstanding  her 
parade  of  learning,  she  generally  espouses  the  wrong  side 
of  the  argument;  and  I  may  say  with  somebody,  whose 
name  I  have  forgotten,  that  any  one  who  knows  Diana 
Dundas  never  need  be  at  a  loss  for  a  woman  to  call  imper- 
tinent." 

"You  are  not  usually  so  severe,  my  lord!" 

"I  am  not  usually  so  sincere,  Miss  Beaufort,"  answered 
he;  "but  I  see  you  think  for  yourself,  therefore  I  make 
no  hesitation  in  speaking  what  I  think — to  you." 

His  auditor  bowed  her  head  sportively  but  modestly. 
Lady  Dundas  at  that  moment  beckoned  him  across  the 
room.  She  compelled  him  to  sit  down  to  whist.  He  cast 
a  rueful  glance  at  Mary,  and  took  a  seat  opposite  to  his 
costly  partner. 

"Lord  Berrington  is  a  very  worthy  young  man,"  ob- 
served the  clergyman  to  whom  at  the  beginning  of  the 
evening  Miss  Beaufort  had  resigned  her  chair;  "I  pre- 
sume, madam,  you  have  been  honoring  him  with  your 
conversation?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Mary,  noticing  the  benign  countenance 
of  the  speaker;  "I  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  long 
knowing  his  lordship,  but  what  I  have  seen  of  his  charac- 
ter is  highly  to  his  advantage." 

"I  was  intimate  in  his  father's  house  for  years,"  re- 
joined the  gentleman:  "I  knew  this  young  nobleman  from 
a  boy.  If  he  has  faults,  he  owes  them  to  his  mother,  who 
doted  on  him,  and  rather  directed  his  care  to  the  adorn- 
ment of  his  really  handsome  person  than  to  the  cultivation 
of  talents  he  has  since  learned  to  appreciate." 

"I  believe  Lord  Berrington  to  be  very  sensible,  and, 
above  all,  very  humane,"  returned  Miss  Beaufort. 

"He  is  so,"  replied  the  old  gentleman;  "yet  it  was  not 
till  he  had  attained  the  age  of  twenty-two  that  he  appeared 
to  know  he  had  anything  to  do  in  the  world  besides  dress- 
ing and  attending  on  the  fair  sex.  His  taste  produced  the 
first,  while  the  urbanity  of  his  disposition  gave  birth  to 
the  latter.  When  Berrington  arrived  at  his  title,  he  was 
about    twenty-five.     Sorrow  for  the  death    of    his  ami- 


260  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

able  parents,  who  died  in  the  same  month,  afforded 
him  leisure  to  find  his  reason.  He  discovered  that  he  had 
been  acting  a  part  beneath  him,  and  he  soon  implanted 
on  the  good  old  stock  those  excellent  acquirements  which 
you  see  he  possesses.  In  spite  of  his  regeneration,"  con- 
tinued the  clergyman,  casting  a  good-humored  glance  on 
the  dove-colored  suit  of  the  viscount,  "you  perceive  that 
first  impressions  will  remain.  He  loves  dress,  but  he  loves 
justice  and  philanthropy  better." 

"This  eulogy,  sir,"  said  Mary,  "affords  me  real  pleasure. 
May  I  know  the  name  of  the  gentleman  with  whom  I  have 
the  honor  to  converse?" 

"My  name  is  Blackmore,"  returned  he. 

"Dr.  Blackmore?" 

"The  same." 

He  was  the  same  Dr.  Blackmore  who  had  been  struck 
by  the  appearance  of  the  Count  Sobieski  at  the  Hummums, 
but  had  never  learned  his  name,  and  who,  being  a  rare 
visitor  at  Lady  Dundas',  had  never  by  chance  met  a  second 
time  with  the  object  of  his  compassion. 

"I  am  happy,"  resumed  Miss  Beaufort,  "in  having  the 
good  fortune  to  meet  a  clergyman  of  whom  I  have  so  fre- 
quently heard  my  guardian,  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  speak 
with  the  highest  esteem." 

"Ah!"  replied  he,  "I  have  not  seen  him  since  the 
death  of  his  lady;  I  hope  that  he  and  his  son  are  well?" 

"Both  are  perfectly  so  now,"  returned  she,  "and  are 
together  in  the  country." 

"You,  madam,  I  suppose  are  my  lady's  niece,  the 
daughter  of  the  brave  Admiral  Beaufort?" 

"I  am,  sir." 

"Well,  I  rejoice  at  this  incident,"  rejoined  he,  pressing 
her  hand;  "I  knew  your  mother  when  she  was  a  lovely 
girl.  She  used  to  spend  her  summers  with  the  late  Lady 
Somerset,  at  the  castle.  It  was  there  I  had  the  honor  of 
cultivating  her  friendship." 

"I  do  not  remember  ever  having  seen  my  mother,"  re- 
plied the  now  thoughtful  Mary.  Dr.  Blackmore,  observ- 
ing the  expression  of  her  countenance,  smiled  kindly,  and 
said,  "I  fear  I  am  to  blame  here.  This  is  a  somewhat 
sad  way  of  introducing  myself.  But  your  goodness  must 
pardon  me,"  continued  he;  "for  I  have  so  long  accus- 
tomed myself  to  speak  what  I  think  to  those  in  whom  I 


TEA r> n EU8  OF  WARSA  W.  2H1 

see  cause  to  esteem,  that  sometimes,  as  now,  I  undesignedly 
inflict  pain." 

"Not  in  this  case,"  returned  Miss  Beaufort.  "I  am 
always  pleased  when  listening  to  a  friend  of  my  mother, 
and  particularly  so  when  he  speaks  in  her  praise." 

The  breaking  up  of  the  card-tables  prevented  further 
conversation.  Lord  Berrington  again  approached  the 
sofa  where  Mary  sat,  exclaiming,  as  he  perceived  her  com- 
panion, "Ah!  my  good  doctor;  have  you  presented  your- 
self at  this  fair  shrine?  I  declare  you  eccentric  folk  may 
dare  anything.  While  you  are  free,  Miss  Beaufort," 
added  he,  turning  to  her,  "adopt  the  advice  which  a  good 
lady  once  gave  me,  and  which  I  have  implicitly  followed: 
'When  you  are  young,  get  the  character  of  an  oddity,  and 
it  seats  you  in  an  easy-chair  for  life.'  " 

Mary  was  interrupted  in  her  reply  by  a  general  stir 
among  the  company,  who,  now  the  cards  were  over,  like 
bees  and  wasps  were  swarming  about  the  room,  gathering 
honey  or  stinging  as  they  went. 

At  one  the  house  was  cleared;  and  Miss  Beaufort  threw 
herself  on  the  pillow,  to  think,  and  then  to  dream  of 
Thaddeus. 


CHAPTEE  XXXI. 

THE   GEEAT   AND  THE    SMALL  OF   SOCIETY. 

If  it  be  true  what  the  vivid  imaginations  of  poets  have 
frequently  asserted,  that  when  the  soul  dreams,  it  is  in 
the  actual  presence  of  those  beings  whose  images  present 
themselves  to  their  slumbers,  then  have  the  spirit  of 
Thaddeus  and  Mary  been  often  commingled  at  the  hour 
of  midnight;  then  has  the  young  Sobieski  again  visited 
his  distant  country,  again  seen  it  victorious,  again  knelt 
before  his  sainted  parents. 

From  such  visions  as  these  did  Thaddeus  awake  in  the 
morning,  after  having  spent  the  preceding  evening  with 
Lady  Tinemouth. 

He  had  walked  with  her  ladyship  in  Hyde  Park  till  a 
late  hour.  By  the  mild  light  of  the  moon,  which  shone 
brightly  through  the  still,  balmy  air  of  a  midsummer 
night,  they  took  their  way  along  the  shadowy  bank  of  the 
Serpentine. 


2fi2  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

There  is  a  solemn  appeal  to  the  soul  in  the  repose  of 
nature  that  "makes  itself  be  felt."  No  syllable  from 
either  Thaddeus  or  the  countess  for  some  time  broke  the 
universal  silence.  Thaddeus  looked  around  on  the  clear 
expanse  of  water,  overshadowed  by  the  long  reflection  of  the 
darkening  trees;  then  raising  his  eyes  to  that  beautiful 
planet  which  has  excited  tender  thoughts  in  every  feeling 
breast  since  the  creation  of  the  world,  he  drew  a  deep 
sigh.     The  countess  echoed  it. 

"In  such  a  night  as  this,"  said  Thaddeus,  in  a  low  voice, 
as  if  afraid  to  disturb  the  sleeping  deity  of  the  place,  "I 
used  to  walk  the  ramparts  of  Villanow  with  my  dear  de- 
parted mother,  and  gaze  on  that  lovely  orb;  and  when  I 
was  far  from  her,  I  have  looked  at  it  from  the  door  of  my 
tent,  and  fancying  that  her  eyes  were  then  fixed  on  the 
same  object  as  mine,  I  found  happiness  in  the  idea." 

A  tear  stole  down  the  cheek  of  Thaddeus.  That  moon 
yet  shone  brightly;  but  his  mother's  eyes  were  closed  in 
the  grave. 

"Villanow!"  repeated  the  countess,  in  a  tone  of  tender 
surprise;  "surely  that  was  the  seat  of  the  celebrated  Pala- 
tine of  Masovia!  You  have  discovered  yourself,  Constan- 
tine!  I  am  much  mistaken  if  you  be  not  his  grandson, 
the  young,  yet  far-famed,  Thaddeus  Sobieski?" 

Thaddeus  had  allowed  the  remembrances  pressing  on 
his  mind  to  draw  him  into  a  speech  which  had  disclosed 
to  the  quick  apprehension  of  the  countess  what  his  still 
too  sensitive  pride  would  forever  have  concealed. 

"I  have  indeed  betrayed  my  secret,"  cried  he,  incapable 
of  denying  it;  "but,  dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  as  you  value 
my  feelings,  never  let  it  escape  your  lips.  Having  long 
considered  you  as  my  best  friend,  and  loved  you  as  a 
parent,  I  forgot,  in  the  recollection  of  my  beloved  mother, 
that  I  had  withheld  any  of  my  history  from  you." 

"Mysterious  Providence!"  exclaimed  her  ladyship, 
after  a  pause,  in  which  ten  thousand  admiring  and  pitying 
reflections  thronged  on  her  mind:  "is  it  possible?  Can  it 
be  the  Count  Sobieski,  that  brave  and  illustrious  youth 
of  whom  every  foreigner  spoke  with  wonder?  Can  it  be 
him  that  I  behold  in  the  unknown,  unfriended  Constan- 
tine?" 

"Even  so,"  returned  Thaddeus,  pressing  her  hand. 
"My  country  is  no  more.     I  am  now  forgotten  by  the 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  yC3 

world,  as  I  have  been  by  fortune.  I  have  nothing  to  do 
on  the  earth  but  to  fulfill  the  few  duties  which  a  filial 
friendship  has  enjoined,  and  then  it  will  be  a  matter  of 
indifference  to  me  how  soon  I  am  laid  in  its  bosom." 

"You  are  too  young,  dear  Constantine  (for  I  am  still  to 
call  you  by  that  name),  to  despair  of  happiness  being  yet 
reserved  for  you." 

"No,  my  dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  I  do  not  cheat  myself 
with  such  hope;  I  am  not  so  importunate  with  the  gracious 
Being  who  gave  me  life  and  reason.  He  bestowed  upon 
me  for  awhile  the  tenderest  connections — friends,  rank, 
honors,  glory.  All  these  were  crushed  in  the  fall  of 
Poland;  yet  I  survive.  I  sought  resignation  only,  and  I 
have  found  it.  It  cost  me  many  a  struggle;  but  the  con- 
test was  due  to  the  decrees  of  that  all-wise  Creator  who 
gave  my  first  years  to  happiness." 

"Inestimable  young  man!"  cried  the  countess,  wiping 
the  flowing  tears  from  her  eyes;  "you  teach  misfortune 
dignity!  Not  when  all  Warsaw  rose  in  a  body  to  thank 
you,  not  when  the  king  received  you  in  the  senate  with 
open  arms,  could  you  have  appeared  to  me  so  worthy  of 
admiration  as  at  this  moment,  when,  conscious  of  having 
been  all  this,  you  submit  to  the  direct  reverse,  because 
you  believe  it  to  be  the  will  of  your  Maker!  Ah!  little 
does  Miss  Beaufort  think,  when  seated  by  your  side,  that 
she  is  conversing  with  the  youthful  hero  whom  she  has  so 
often  wished  to  see!" 

"Miss  Beaufort!"  echoed  Thaddeus,  his  heart  glowing 
with  delight.  "Do  you  think  she  ever  heard  of  me  by  the 
name  of  Sobieski?" 

"Who  has  not?"  returned  the  countess;  "every  heart 
that  could  be  interested  by  heroic  virtue  has  heard  and 
well  remembers  its  glorious  struggles  against  the  calami- 
ties of  your  country.  While  the  newspapers  of  the  day 
informed  us  of  these  things,  they  noticed  among  the  first 
of  her  champions  the  Palatine  of  Masovia,  Kosciusko,  and 
the  young  Sobieski.  Many  an  evening  have  I  passed  with 
Miss  Dorothy  and  Mary  Beaufort,  lamenting  the  fate  of 
that  devoted  kingdom." 

During  this  declaration,  a  variety  of  indeed  happy  emo- 
tions agitated  the  mind  of  Thaddeus,  until,  recollecting 
with  a  bitter  pang  the  shameless  ingratitude  of  Pembroke, 
when  all  those  glories  were  departed  from  him,  and  the 


264  THA DDEUS  OF  WA  RSA  W. 

cruel  possibility  of  being  recognized  by  tbe  Earl  of  Tine- 
mouth  as  his  son,  he  exclaimed,  "My  dearest  madam,  I 
entreat  that  what  I  have  revealed  to  you  may  never  be 
divulged.  Miss  Beaufort's  friendship  would  indeed  be 
hoppiness;  but  I  cannot  purchase  even  so  great  a  bliss  at 
the  expense  of  memories  which  are  knit  with  my  life." 

"How?"  cried  the  countess;  "is  not  your  name,  and  all 
its  attendant  ideas,  an  honor  which  the  proudest  man 
might  boast?" 

Thaddeus  pressed  her  hand  to  his  heart. 

"You  are  kind — very  kind!  yet  I  cannot  retract.  Con- 
fide, dear  Lady  Tinemouth,  in  the  justice  of  my  resolu- 
tion. I  could  not  bear  cold  pity;  I  cou-ld  not  bear  the 
heartless  comments  of  people  who,  pretending  to  com- 
passion, would  load  me  with  a  heavy  sense  of  my  calami- 
ties. Besides,  there  are  persons  in  England  who  are  so 
much  the  objects  of  my  aversion,  I  would  rather  die  than 
let  them  know  I  exist.  Therefore,  once  again,  dear  Lady 
Tinemouth,  let  me  implore  you  to  preserve  my  secret." 

She  saw  by  the  earnestness  of  his  manner  that  she  ought 
to  comply,  and  without  further  hesitation  promised  all 
the  silence  he  desired. 

This  long  moonlight  conversation,  by  awakening  all 
those  dormant  remembrances  which  were  cherished, 
though  hidden  in  the  depths  of  his  bosom,  gave  birth  to 
that  mirage  of  imagination  which  painted  that  night,  in 
the  rapid  series  of  his  tumultuous  dreams,  the  images  of 
every  being  whom  he  had  ever  loved,  or  now  continued  to 
regard  with  interest. 

Proceeding  next  morning  toward  Harley  Street,  he 
mused  on  what  had  happened ;  and  pleased  that  he  had, 
though  unpremeditatedly,  paid  the  just  compliment  of 
his  entire  confidence  to  the  uncommon  friendship  of  the 
countess,  he  arrived  at  Lady  Dundas'  door  before  he  was 
sensible  of  the  ground  he  had  passed  over,  and  in  a  few 
minutes  afterward  was  ushered  into  his  accustomed  purga- 
tory. 

When  the  servant  opened  the  study  door,  Miss  Euphemia 
was  again  alone.  Thaddeus  recoiled,  but  he  could  not 
retreat. 

"Come  in,  Mr.  Constantine,"  cried  the  little  beauty,  in 
a  languid  tone;  "my  sister  is  going  to  the  riding-school 
with  Mr.  Lascelles.     Miss  Beaufort  wanted  me  to  drive 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW  265 

out  with  her  and  my  mother,  but  I  preferred  waiting  for 
you." 

The  count  bowed ;  and  almost  retreating  with  fear  of 
what  might  next  be  said,  he  gladly  heard  a  thundering 
knock  at  the  door,  and  a  moment  after  the  voice  of  Miss 
Dundas  ascending  the  stairs. 

He  had  just  opened  his  books  when  she  entered,  followed 
by  her  lover.  Panting  under  a  heavy  riding-habit,  she 
flung  herself  on  a  sofa,  and  began  to  vilify  ' 'the  odious 
heat  of  Pozard's  odious  place;"  then  telling  Euphemia 
she  would  play  truant  to-day,  ordered  her  to  attend  to  her 
lessons. 

Owing  to  the  warmth  of  the  weather,  Thaddeus  came 
out  this  morning  without  boots;  and  it  being  the  first 
time  the  exquisite  proportion  of  his  figure  had  been  so 
fully  seen  by  any  of  the  present  company  excepting 
Euphemia,  Lascelles,  bursting  with  an  emotion  which  he 
would  not  call  envy,  measured  the  count's  graceful  limb 
with  his  scornful  eyes;  then  declaring  he  was  quite  in  a 
furnace,  took  the  corner  of  his  glove  and  waving  it  to  and 
fro,  half-muttered,  "Come,  gentle  air." 

"The  fairer  Lascelles  cries!"  exclaimed  Euphemia, 
looking  off  her  exercise. 

"What!  does  your  master  teach  you  wit?"  drawled  the 
coxcomb,  with  a  particular  emphasis. 

Thaddeus,  affecting  not  to  hear,  continued  to  direct  his 
pupil. 

The  indefatigable  Lascelles  having  observed  the  com- 
placence with  which  the  count  always  regarded  Miss  Beau- 
fort, determined  the  goad  should  fret;  and  drawing  the 
knitting  out  of  his  pocket  which  he  had  snatched  the 
night  before  from  Mary,  he  exclaimed,  "'Fore  Heaven, 
here  is  my  little  Beaufort's  purse!" 

Thaddeus  started,  and  unconsciously  looking  up,  beheld 
the  well-known  work  of  Mary  dangling  in  the  hand  of 
Lascelles.  He  suffered  pangs  unknown  to  him;  his  eyes 
became  dim;  and  hardly  knowing  what  he  saw  or  said,  he 
pursued  the  lesson  with  increased  rapidity. 

Finding  that  his  malice  had  taken  effect,  with  a  careless 
air  the  malicious  puppy  threw  his  clumsy  limbs  on  the 
sofa,  which  Miss  Dundas  had  just  quitted  to  seat  herself 
nearer  the  window,  and  cried  out,  as  in  a  voice  of  sudden 
recollection : 


266  TEADDEU8  OF  WARSAW. 

"By  the  by,  that  Miss  Mary  Beaufort,  when  she  chooses 
to  be  sincere,  is  a  stanch  little  Queen  Bess." 

"You  may  as  well  tell  me,"  replied  Miss  Dundas,  with 
a  deriding  curl  of  her  lip,  "that  she  is  the  Empress  of 
Russia." 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  cried  he,  and  raising  his  voice  to 
be  better  heard,  "I  do  not  mean  in  the  way  oi  learning. 
But  I  will  prove  in  a  moment  her  creditable  high-mighti- 
ness in  these  presumptuous  times,  though  a  silly  love  of 
popularity  induces  her  to  affect  now  and  then  a  humble 
guise  to  some  people  beneath  her.  When  she  gave  me 
this  gewgaw,"  ad  led  )ie,  flourishing  the  purse  in  his 
hand,  "she  told  me  a  pretty  tissue  about  a  fair  friend  of 
hers,  whose  music-master,  mistaking  some  condescension 
on  her  part,  had  dared  to  press  her  snowy  fingers  while 
directing  them  toward  a  tender  chord  on  her  harp.  You 
have  no  notion  how  the  gentle  Beaufort's  blue  eyes  blazed 
up  while  relating  poor  Tweedledum's  presumption!" 

"I  can  have  a  notion  of  anything  these  boasted  meek 
young  ladies  do  when  thrown  off  their  guard,"  haughtily 
returned  his  contemptuous  auditress,  "after  Miss  Beau- 
fort's violent  sally  of  impertinence  to  you  last  night." 

"Impertinence  to  me!"  echoed  the  fop,  at  the  same 
time  dipping  the  end  of  the  knitting  into  Diana's  lavender- 
bottle,  and  dabbing  his  temples;  "she  was  always  too  civil 
by  half.     I  hate  forward  girls." 

Thaddeus  shut  the  large  dictionary  which  lay  before 
him  with  a  force  that  made  the  puppy  start,  and  rising 
hastily  from  his  chair,  with  a  face  all  crimson,  was  taking 
his  hat,  when  the  door  opened,  and  Mary  appeared. 

A  white-chip  bonnet  was  resting  lightly  on  the  glittering 
tresses  which  waved  over  her  forehead,  while  her  lace- 
shade,  gently  discomposed  by  the  air,  half-veiled  and  half- 
revealed  her  graceful  figure.  She  entered  with  a  smile, 
and  walking  up  to  the  side  of  the  table  where  Thaddeus 
was  standing,  inquired  after  his  friend's  health.  He 
answered  her  in  a  voice  unusually  agitated.  All  that  he 
had  been  told  by  the  countess  of  her  favorable  opinion 
of  him,  and  the  slander  he  had  just  heard  from  Diana's 
lover,  were  at  once  present  in  his  mind. 

He  was  yet  speaking,  when  Miss  Beaufort,  casually  look- 
ing toward  the  other  side  of  the  room,  saw  her  purse  still 
acting  the  part  of  a  handkerchief  in  the  hand  of  Mr. 
Lascelles. 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  267 

"Look,  Mr.  Constantine,"  said  she  gayly,  tapping  his 
arm  with  her  parasol,  "how  the  most  precious  things  may- 
be degraded!     There  is  the  knitting  you  have  so  often 
admired,   and  which  I  intended  for  Lady  Tinemouth's- 
pocket,  debased  to  do  the  office  of  Mr.  Lascelles'  napkin." 

"You  gave  it  to  him,  Miss  Beaufort,"  cried  Miss  Dun- 
das;  "and  after  that,  surely  he  may  use  it  as  he  values  it!" 

"If  I  could  have  given  it  to  Mr.  Lascelles,  madam,  I 
should  hardly  have  taken  notice  of  its  fate." 

Believing  what  her  lover  had  advanced,  Miss  Dundas 
was  displeased  at  Mary  for  having,  by  presents,  interfered 
with  any  of  her  danglers,  and  rather  angrily  replied,  "Mr. 
Lascelles  said  you  gave  it  to  him ;  and  certainly  you  would 
not  insinuate  a  word  against  his  veracity?" 

"No,  not  insinuate,"  returned  Miss  Beaufort,  "but 
affirm  that  he  has  forgotten  his  veracity  in  this  statement." 

Lascelles  yawned.  "Lord  bless  me,  ladies,  how  you 
quarrel.     You  will  disturb  monsieur!" 

"Mr.  Constantine,"  returned  Mary,  blushing  with  in- 
dignation, "cannot  be  disturbed  by  nonsense." 

Thaddeus  again  drew  his  hat  toward  him,  and  bowing 
to  his  lovely  champion,  with  an  expression  of  countenance 
which  he  little  suspected  had  passed  from  his  heart  to  his 
eyes,  he  was  preparing  to  take  his  leave,  when  Euphemia 
requested  him  to  inform  her  whether  she  had  folded  down 
the  right  pages  for  the  next  exercise.  He  approached  her, 
and  was  leaning  over  her  chair  to  look  at  the  book,  when 
she  whispered,  "Don't  be  hurt  at  what  Lascelles  says;  he 
is  always  jealous  of  anybody  handsomer  than  himself." 

Thaddeus  dropped  his  eyelids  with  a  face  of  scarlet;  for 
on  meeting  the  eyes  of  Mary,  he  saw  that  she  had  heard 
tli is  intended  comforter  as  well  as  himself.  Uttering  a 
few  incoherent  sentences  he  hurried  out  of  the  room. 


CHAPTEK  XXXII. 

THE   OBDURACY    OF   VICE — THE  INHUMANITY   OF   FOLLY. 

The  Count  Sobieski  was  prevented  paying  his  customary 
visit  next  morning  in  Harley  Street  by  a  sudden  dangerous 
increase  of  illness  in  the  general,  who  had  been  struck  d.% 
^e.ven  >A  u>ok  Uj  a  fit  of  pajgy. 


268  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

When  Dr.  Cavendish  beheld  the  poor  old  man  stretched 
on  the  bed,  and  hardly  exhibiting  signs  of  life,  he  pro- 
nounced it  to  be  a  death-stroke.  At  this  remark,  Thad- 
deus,  turning  fearfully  pale,  staggered  to  a  seat,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  on  the  altered  features  of  his  friend.  Dr. 
Cavendish  took  his  hand. 

"Recollect  yourself,   my   dear  sir!     Happen   when  it 
'  may,  his  death  must  be  a  release  to  him.     But  he  may  yet 
linger  a  few  days." 

"Not  in  pain,  I  hope!"  said  Thaddeus. 

"No,"  returned  the  doctor;  "probably  he  will  remain 
as  you  now  see  him,  till  he  expires  like  the  last  glimmer 
of  a  dying  taper." 

The  benevolent  Cavendish  gave  proper  directions  to 
Thaddeus,  also  to  Mrs.  Eobson,  who  promised  to  act  care- 
fully as  nurse;  and  then  with  regret  left  the  stunned 
count  to  the  melancholy  task  of  watching  by  the  bedside 
of  his  last  early  friend. 

Thaddeus  now  retained  no  thought  that  was  not  riveted 
to  the  emaciated  form  before  him.  While  the  unconscious- 
invalid  struggled  for  respiration,  he  listened  to  his  short 
and  convulsed  breathing  with  sensations  which  seemed  to 
tear  the  strings  of  his  own  breast.  Uunable  to  bear  it 
longer,  he  moved  to  the  fireside,  and  seating  himself,  with 
his  pallid  face  and  aching  head  supported  on  his  arm, 
which  rested  on  a  plain  deal  table,  he  remained;  meeting 
no  other  suspension  from  deep  and  awe-struck  meditation 
than  the  occasional  appearance  of  Mrs.  Robson  on  tiptoes, 
peeping  in  and  inquiring  whether  he  wanted  anything. 

From  this  reverie,  like  unto  the  shadow  of  death,  he 
was  aroused  next  morning  at  nine  o'clock  by  the  entrance 
of  Dr.  Cavendish.  Thaddeus  seized  his  hand  with  the 
eagerness  of  his  awakened  suspense.  "My  dear  sir,  may 
I  hope " 

Not  suffering  him  to  finish  with  what  he  hoped,  the 
doctor  shook  his  head  in  gentle  sign  of  the  vanity  of  that 
hope,  and  advanced  to  the  bed  of  the  general.  He  felt 
his  pulse.  No  change  of  opinion  was  the  consequence, 
only  that  he  now  saw  no  threatenings  of  immediate  disso- 
lution. 

"Poor  Butzou!"  murmured  Thaddeus,  when  the  doctor 
withdrew,  putting  the  general's  motionless  hand  to  his 
quivering  lips;  "I  never  will  leave  thee!    I  will  watch  by 


TUADDEU8  OF  WARSA  W.  269 

thee,  thon  last  relic  of  my  country!  It  may  not  be  long 
ere  we  lie  side  by  side." 

With  anguish  at  his  heart,  he  wrote  a  few  hasty  lines  to 
the  countess;  then  addressing  Miss  Dundas,  he  mentioned 
as  the  reason  for  his  late  and  continued  absence  the  dan- 
ger of  his  friend. 

His  note  found  Miss  Dundas  attended  by  her  constant 
shadow,  Mr.  Lascelles,  Lady  Hilliars,  and  two  or  three 
more  fine  ladies  and  gentlemen,  besides  Euphemia  and 
Miss  Beaufort,  who,  with  pensive  countenances,  were 
waiting  the  arrival  of  its  writer. 

When  Miss  Dundas  took  the  billet  off  the  silver  salver 
on  which  her  man  presented  it,  and  looked  at  the  super- 
scription, she  threw  it  into  the  lap  of  Lascelles. 

"There,"  cried  she,  "is  an  excuse,  I  suppose,  from  Mr. 
Constantine,  for  his  impertinence  in  not  coming  hither 
yesterday.     Read  it,  Lascelles." 

'"Fore  Gad,  I  wouldn't  touch  it  for  an  earldom!"  ex- 
claimed the  affected  puppy,  jerking  it  on  the  table.  "It 
might  affect  me  with  the  hypochondriacs.  Pray,  Phemy, 
do  you  peruse  it." 

Euphemia,  in  her  earnestness  to  learn  what  detained 
Mr.  Constantine,  neglected  the  insolence  of  the  request, 
and  hastily  breaking  the  seal,  read  as  follows: 

"Mr.  Constantine  hopes  that  a  sudden  and  dangerous 
disorder  which  has  attacked  the  life  of  a  very  dear  friend 
with  whom  he  resides  will  be  a  sufficient  appeal  to  the 
humanity  of  the  Misses  Dundas,  and  obtain  their  pardon 
for  his  relinquishing  the  honor  of  attending  them  yester- 
day and  to-day." 

i 

"Dear  me!"  cried  Euphemia  piteously;  "how  sorry  \ 
a-m!  I  dare  say  it  is  that  white-haired  old  man  we  saw 
in  the  park.     You  remember,  Mary,  he  was  sick?" 

"Probably,"  returned  Miss  Beaufort,  with  her  eyes  fixed 
on  the  agitated  handwriting  of  Thaddeus. 

"Throw  the  letter  into  the  street,  Phemy!"  cried  Miss 
Dundas,  affecting  sudden  terror;  "who  knows  but  what  it 
is  a  fever  the  man  has  got,  and  we  may  all  catch  our 
deaths?" 

"Heaven  forbid!"  exclaimed  Mary,  in    a  voice  of  real 


270  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

alarm;  but  it  was  for  Thaddeus — not  fear  of  any  infection 
which  the  paper  might  bring  to  herself. 

"Lascelles,  take  away  that  filthy  scrawl  from  Phemy. 
How  can  you  be  so  headstrong,  child?"  cried  Diana, 
snatching  the  letter  from  her  sister  and  throwing  it  from 
the  window.  "I  declare  you  are  sufficient  to  provoke  a 
saint." 

"Then  you  may  keep  your  temper,  Di,"  returned 
Euphemia,  with  a  sneer;  "you  are  far  enough  from  that 
title." 

Miss  Dundas  made  a  very  angry  reply,  which  was  retali- 
ated by  another;  and  a  still  more  noisy  and  disagreeable 
altercation  might  have  taken  place  had  not  a  good-humored 
lad,  a  brother-in-law  of  Lady  Hilliars,  in  hopes  of  calling 
off  the  attention  of  the  sisters,  exclaimed,  "Bless  me, 
Miss  Dundas,  your  little  dog  has  pulled  a  folded  sheet  of 
paper  from  under  that  stand  of  flowers!  Perhaps  it  may 
be  of  consequence." 

"Fly!  Take  it  up,  George!"  cried  Lady  Hilliars; 
"Esop  will  tear  it  to  atoms  while  you  are  asking  ques- 
tions." 

After  a  chase  round  the  room,  over  chairs  and  under 
tables,  George  Hilliars  at  length  plucked  the  devoted 
piece  of  paper  out  of  the  dog's  mouth;  and  as  Miss  Beau- 
fort was  gathering  up  her  working  materials  to  leave  the 
room,  he  opened  it  and  cried,  in  a  voice  of  triumph,  "By 
Jove,  it  is  a  copy  of  verses." 

"Verses!"  demanded  Euphemia,  feeling  in  her  pocket, 
and  coloring;  "let  me  see  them." 

"That  you  shan't,"  roared  Lascelles,  catching  them 
out  of  the  boy's  hand;  "if  they  are  your  writing,  we  will 
have  them." 

"Help  me,  Mary!"  cried  Euphemia,  turning  to  Miss 
Beaufort;  "I  know  that  nobody  is  a  poet  in  this  house 
but  myself.     They  must  be  mine,  and  I  will  have  them." 

"Surely,  Mr.  Lascelles,"  said  Mary,  compassionating 
the  poor  girl's  anxiety,  "you  will  not  be  so  rude  as  to  de- 
tain them  from  their  right  owner?" 

"Oh!  but  I  will,"  cried  he,  mounting  on  a  table  to  get 
out  of  Euphemia's  reach,  who,  half-crying,  tried  to  snatch 
at  the  paper.  "Let  me  alone,  Miss  Phemy.  I  will  read 
them;  so  here  goes  it." 

Miss   Dundas  laughed  at  her  sister's  confused  looks, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  271 

while  Lascelles  prepared  to  read  in  a  loud  voice  the  fol- 
lowing verses.  They  had  been  hastily  written  in  pencil  by 
Thaddeus  a  longtime  ago;  and  having  put  them,  by  mis- 
take, with  some  other  papers  into  his  pocket,  he  had 
dropped  them  next  day,  in  taking  out  his  handkerchief  at 
Lady  Dundas'.  Lascelles  cleared  his  throat  with  three 
hems,  then  raising  his  right  hand  with  a  flourishing  action, 
in  a  very  pompous  tone  began : 

"  Like  one  whom  Etna's  torrent  fires  have  sent 
Far  from  the  land  where  his  first  youth  was  spent; 
Who,  inly  drooping  on  a  foreign  shore, 
Broods  over  scenes  which  charm  his  eyes  no  more: 
And  while  his  country's  ruin  wakes  the  groan, 
Yearns  for  the  buried  hut  he  called  his  own. 
So  driv'n,  O  Poland!  from  thy  ravaged  plains, 
So  mourning  o'er  thy  sad  but  loved  remains, 
A  houseless  wretch,  I  wander  through  the  world, 
From  friends,  from  greatness,  and  from  glory  hurl'd! 

"  Oh!  not  that  each  long  night  my  weary  eyes 
Sink  into  sleep,  unlull'd  by  Pity's  sighs; 
Not  that  in  bitter  tears  my  bread  is  steep'd — 
Tears  drawn  by  insults  on  my  sorrows  heap'd: 
Not  that  my  thoughts  recall  a  mother's  grave — 
Recall  the  sire  I  would  have  died  to  save, 
Who  fell  before  me,  bleeding  on  the  field, 
While  I  in  vain  opposed  the  useless  shield. 
Ah!  not  for  these  I  grieve!     Though  mental  woe. 
More  deadly  still,  scarce  Fancy's  self  could  know! 
O'er  want  and  private  griefs  the  soul  can  climb — 
Virtue  subdues  the  one,  the  other  Time: 
But  at  his  country's  fall,  the  patriot  feels 
A  grief  no  time,  no  drug,  no  reason  heals. 

"  Mem'ry!  remorseless  murderer,  whose  voice 
Kills  as  it  sounds;  who  never  says,  Rejoice! 
To  my  deserted  heart,  by  joy  forgot; 
Thou  pale,  thou  midnight  specter,  haunt  me  not! 
Thou  dost  but  point  to  where  sublimely  stands 
A  glorious  temple,  reared  by  Virtue's  hands, 
Circled  with  palms  and  laurels,  crown'd  with  light, 
Darting  Truth's  piercing  sun  on  mortal  sight: 
Then  rushing  on,  leagued  fiends  of  hellish  birth 
Level  the  mighty  fabric  with  the  earth! 
Slept  the  red  bolt  of  Vengeance  in  that  hour 
When  virtuous  Freedom  fell  the  slave  of  Powerl 
Slumber'd  the  God  of  Justice!  that  no  brand 
Blasted  with  blazing  wing  the  impious  band! 
Dread  God  of  Justice!  to  thy  will  I  kneel, 
Though  still  my  filial  heart  must  bleed  and  feel; 


272  THADDEUS  OF  'WARSAW. 

Though  still  the  proud  convulsive  throb  will  rise, 
When  fools  my  country's  wrongs  and  woes  despise; 
When  low-soul'd  Pomp,  vain  Wealth,  that  Pity  gives 
Which  Virtue  ne'er  bestows  and  ne'er  receives — 
That  Pity,  stabbing  where  it  vaunts  to  cure. 
Which  barbs  the  dart  of  Want,  and  makes  it  sure. 
How  far  removed  from  what  the  feeling  breast 
Yields  boastless,  breathed  in  sighs  to  the  distress'dl 
Which  whispers  sympathy,  with  tender  fear, 
And  almost  dreads  to  pour  its  balmy  tear. 
But  such  I  know  not  now!     Unseen,  alone, 
I  heave  the  heavy  sigh,  I  draw  the  groan; 
And,  madd'ning,  turn  to  days  of  liveliest  joy, 
When  o'er  my  native  bills  I  cast  mine  eyes, 
And  said,  exulting — '  Freemen  here  shall  sow 
The  seed  that  soon  in  tossing  gold  shall  glow!' 
While  Plenty,  led  by  Liberty,  shall  rove, 
Gay  and  rejoicing,  through  the  land  they  love; 
And  'mid  the  loaded  vines,  the  peasant  see 
His  wife,  his  children,  breathing  out — '  We're  free!' 
But  now,  O  wretched  land!  above  thy  plains, 
Half-viewless  through  the  gloom,  vast  Horror  reigns; 
No  happy  peasant,  o'er  his  blazing  hearth, 
Devotes  the  supper  hour  to  love  and  mirth; 
No  flowers  on  Piety's  pure  altar  bloom; 
Alas!  they  wither  now,  and  strew  her  tomb! 
From  the  Great  Book  of  Nations  fiercely  rent, 
My  country's  page  to  Lethe's  stream  is  sent — 
But  sent  in  vain!     The  historic  Muse  shall  raise 
O'er  Thronged  Sarmatia's  cause  the  voice  of  praise- 
Shall  sing  her  dauntless  on  the  field  of  death, 
And  blast  her  royal  robbers'  bloody  wrath!" 

"It  must  be  Constantine's!"  cried  Euphemia,  in  a  voice 
of  surprised  delight,  while  springing  up  to  take  the  paper 
out  of  the  deriding  reader's  hand  when  he  finished. 

"I  dare  say  it  is,"  answered  the  ill-natured  Lascelles, 
holding  it  above  his  head.  "You  shall  have  it;  only  first 
let  us  hear  it  again,  it  is  so  mighty  pretty,  so  very  lacka- 
daisical!" 

"Give  it  to  me!"  cried  Euphemia,  quite  angry. 

"Don't,  Lascelles,"  exclaimed  Miss  Dundas,  "the  man 
must  be  a  perfect  idiot  to  write  such  rhodomontade." 

"Oh!  it  is  delectable!"  returned  her  lover,  opening  the 
paper  again;  "it  would  make  a  charming  ditty!  Come,  I 
will  sing  it.  Shall  it  be  to  the  tune  of  'The  Babes  in  the 
Wood,'  or  'Chevy  Chase,'  or  'The  Beggar  of  Bethnal 
Green?'  " 

"Pitiless,  senseless  man!"  exclaimed  Mary,  rising  from 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  273 

her  chair,  where  she  had  been  futilely  striving  to  subdue 
the  emotions  with  which  every  line  in  the  poem  filled  her 
heart. 

"Monster!"  cried  the  enraged  Euphemia,  taking  courage 
at  Miss  Beaufort's  unusual  warmth;  "I  will  have  the 
paper." 

"You  shan't,"  answered  the  malicious  coxcomb;  and 
raising  his  arm  higher  than  her  reach,  he  tore  the  poem 
iin  a  hundred  pieces.  "I'll  teach  pretty  ladies  to  call 
names!" 

At  this  sight,  no  longer  able  to  contain  herself,  Mary 
rushed  out  of  the  room,  and  hurrying  to  her  chamber, 
threw  herself  upon  the  bed,  where  she  gave  way  to  a  par- 
oxysm of  tears  which  shook  her  almost  to  suffocation. 

During  the  first  burst  of  her  indignation,  her  agitated 
spirit  breathed  every  appellation  of  abhorrence  and  re- 
proach on  Lascelles  and  his  malignant  mistress.  Then 
wiping  her  flowing  eyes,  she  exclaimed,  "Yet  can  I  won- 
der, when  I  compare  Constantine  with  what  they  are? 
The  man  who  dares  to  be  virtuous  beyond  others,  and  to 
appear  so,  arms  the  self-love  of  all  common  characters 
against  him." 

Such  being  her  meditations,  she  excused  herself  from 
joining  the  family  at  dinner,  and  it  was  not  until  evening 
that  she  felt  herself  at  all  able  to  treat  the  ill-natured 
group  with  decent  civility. 

To  avoid  spending  more  hours  than  were  absolutely 
necessary  in  the  company  of  a  woman  she  now  loathed, 
next  morning  Miss  Beaufort  borrowed  Lady  Dundas' 
sedan-chair,  and  ordering  it  to  Lady  Tinemouth's,  found 
her  at  home  alone,  but  evidently  much  discomposed. 

"I  intrude  on  you,  Lady  Tinemouth!"  said  Mary, 
observing  her  looks,  and  withdrawing  from  the  offered 
seat. 

"No,  my  dear  Miss  Beaufort,"  replied  she.  "I  am 
glad  you  are  come.  I  assure  you  I  have  few  pleasures  in 
solitude.  Eead  that  letter,"  added  she,  putting  one  into 
her  hand:  "it  has  just  conveyed  one  of  the  crudest  stabs 
ever  offered  by  a  son  to  the  heart  of  his  mother.  Read  it, 
and  you  will  not  be  surprised  at  finding  me  in  the  state 
you  see." 

The  countess  looked  on  her  almost  paralyzed  hands  as 
she  spoke;  and  Miss  Beaufort  taking  the  paper,  sat  down 
and  read  to  herself  the  following  letter : 


074  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"To  the  Right  Honorable  the  Countess  of   Tine- 
mouth. 

"Madam:  I  am  commissioned  by  the  earl,  my  father,  to 
inform  you  that  if  you  have  lost  all  regard  for  your  own 
character,  he  considers  that  some  respect  is  due  to  the 
mother  of  his  children;  therefore  he  watches  your  con- 
duct. 

"He  has  been  apprised  of  your  frequent  meetings,  dur- 
ing these  many  months  past,  in  Grosvenor  Place,  and  at 
other  people's  houses,  with  an  obscure  foreigner,  your  de- 
clared lover.  The  earl  wished  to  suppose  this  false,  until 
your  shameless  behavior  became  so  flagrant  that  he 
esteems  it  worthy  neither  of  doubt  nor  indulgence. 

"With  his  own  eyes  he  saw  you  four  nights  ago  alone 
with  this  man  in  Hyde  Park.  Such  demonstration  is 
dreadful.  Your  proceedings  are  abominable;  and  if  you 
do  not,  without  further  parley,  set  off  either  to  Craighall, 
in  Cornwall,  or  to  the  Wolds,  you  shall  receive  a  letter 
from  my  sister  as  well  as  myself,  to  tell  the  dishonored 
Lady  Tinemouth  how  much  she  merits  her  daughter's 
contempt,  added  to  that  of  her  brother 

"HaRWOLD." 

Mary  was  indeed  heart-struck  at  the  contents  of  this 
letter,  but  most  especially  at  the  accusation  which  so  dis- 
tinctly pointed  out  the  innocent  object  of  her  already 
doubly  excited  pity.  "Oh!  why  these  persecutions," 
cried  her  inward  soul  to  Heaven,  "against  an  apparently 
obscure  but  noble,  friendless  stranger?"  Unable  to  collect 
her  thoughts  to  make  any  proper  remarks  whatever  on  the 
letter  to  Lady  Tinemouth,  she  hastily  exclaimed,  "It  is 
indeed  horrible;  and  what  do  you  mean  to  do,  my  honored 
friend?" 

"I  will  obey  my  lord!"  returned  the  countess,  with  a 
meek  but  firm  emphasis.  "My  last  action  will  be  in 
obedience  to  his  will.  I  cannot  live  long;  and  when  I  am 
dead,  perhaps  the  earl's  vigilance  may  be  satisfied;  per- 
haps some  kind  friend  may  then  plead  my  cause  to  my 
daughter's  heart.  One  cruel  line  from  her  would  kill  me. 
I  will  at  least  avoid  the  completion  of  that  threat,  by  leav- 
ing town  to-morrow  night." 

"What!  so  soon?     But  I  hope  not  so  far  as  Cornwall?" 

"No,"  replied  her  ladyship;    "Craighall   is  too  near 


TUADDEVS  OF  WARSAW.  275 

Plymouth;  I  determine  on  the  Wolds.  Yet  why  should  I 
have  a  choice?  It  is  almost  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
what  spot  I  am  banished— in  what  place  I  am  to  die;  any- 
where to  which  my  earthly  lord  would  send  me,  I  shall  be 
equally  remote  from  the  sympathy  of  a  friend." 

Miss  Beaufort's  heart  was  oppressed  when  she  entered 
the  room.  Lady  Tinemouth's  sorrows  seemed  to  give  her 
a  license  to  weep.  She  took  her  ladyship's  hand,  and  with 
difficulty  sobbed  out  this  inarticulate  proposal:  "Take  me 
with  you,  dear  Lady  Tinemouth!  I  am  sure  my  guardian 
will  be  happy  to  permit  me  to  be  with  you,  where  and  how 
Ion?  you  please." 

"My  dear  young  friend,"  replied  the  countess,  kissing 
her  tearful  cheek,  "I  thank  you  from  my  heart;  but  I 
cannot  take  so  ungenerous  an  advantage  of  your  goodness 
as  to  consign  your  tender  nature  to  the  harassing  task  of 
attending  on  sornyw  and  sickness.  How  strangely  different 
may  even  amiable  dispositions  be  tempered !  Sophia  Eger- 
ton  is  better  framed  for  such  an  office.  Kind  as  she  is, 
the  hilarity  of  her  disposition  does  not  allow  the  sympathy 
she  bestows  on  others  to  injure  either  her  mind  or  her 
body." 

Mary  interrupted  her.  "Ah!  I  should  be  grieved  to 
believe  that  my  very  aptitude  to  serve  my  friends  will 
prove  the  first  reason  why  I  should  be  denied  the  duty. 
It  is  only  in  scenes  of  affliction  that  friendship  can  be 
tried,  and  declare  its  truth.  If  Miss  Egerton  were  not 
going  with  you,  I  should  certainly  insist  on  putting  my 
affection  to  the  ordeal." 

"You  mistake,  my  sweet  friend,"  returned  her  lady- 
ship; "Sophia  is  forbidden  to  remain  any  longer  with  me. 
You  have  overlooked  the  postscript  to  Lord  Harwold's 
letter,  else  you  must  have  seen  the  whole  of  my  cruel  sit- 
uation.    Turn  over  the  leaf." 

Miss  Beaufort  reopened  the  sheet,  and  read  the  follow- 
ing few  lines,  which,  being  written  on  the  interior  part  of 
the  paper,  had  before  escaped  her  sight: 

"Go  where  you  will,  it  is  our  special  injunction  that  you 
leave  Miss  Egerton  behind  you.  She,  we  hear,  has  been 
the  ambassadress  in  this  intrigue.  If  we  learn  that  you 
disobey,  it  shall  be  worse  for  you  in  every  respect,  as  it 
will  convince  us,  beyond  a  possibility  of  doubt,  how  uni- 
form ia  the  turpitude  of  your  conduct." 


2T6  TffADDEVS  OP  WA  USA  W. 

Lady  Tinemonth  grasped  Miss  Beaufort's  hand  when 
she  laid  the  matricidal  letter  back  upon  the  table.  "And 
that  is  from  the  son  for  whom  I  felt  all  a  mother's  throes 
— all  a  mother's  love!  Had  he  died  the  first  hour  in 
which  he  saw  the  light,  what  a  mass  of  guilt  might  he  not 
have  escaped!  It  is  he,''  added  she,  in  a  lower  voice,  and 
looking  wildly  round,  "that  breaks  my  heart.  I  could 
have  borne  his  father's  perfidy;  but  insult,  oppression, 
from  my  child!  Oh,  Mary,  may  you  never  know  its  bit- 
terness!" 

Miss  Beaufort  could  only  answer  with  her  tears. 

After  a  pause  of  many  minutes,  in  which  the  countesr 
strove  to  tranquilize  her  spirits,  she  resumed  in  a  woy^, 
composed  voice. 

"Excuse  me  for  an  instant,  my  dear  Miss  Beauiort;  I 
must  write  to  Mr.  Constantine.  I  have  yet  to  inform  him 
that  my  absence  is  to  be  added  to  his  other  misfortunes." 

With  her  eyes  now  raining  down  upon  the  paper,  she 
took  up  a  pen,  and  hastily  writing  a  few  lines,  was  sealing 
them  when  Mary,  looking  up,  hardly  conscious  of  the 
words  which  escaped  her,  said,  with  inarticulate  anxiety, 
"Lady  Tinemouth,  yon  know  much  of  that  noble  and  un- 
happy young  man?"  Her  eyes  irresolute  and  her  cheek 
glowing,  she  awaited  the  answer  of  the  countess,  who 
continued  to  gaze  on  the  letter  she  held  in  her  hand,  as  if 
in  profound  thought;  then  all  at  once  raising  her  head, 
and  regarding  the  now  downcast  face  of  her  lovely  friend 
with  tenderness,  she  replied,  in  a  tone  which  conveyed  the 
deep  interest  of  her  thoughts: 

"I  do,  Miss  Beaufort;  but  he  has  reposed  his  griefs  in 
my  friendship  and  honor,  therefore  I  must  hold  them 
sacred." 

"I  will  not  ask  you  to  betray  them,"  returned  Mary,  in 
a  faltering  voice;  "yet  I  cannot  help  lamenting  his  suf- 
ferings, and  esteeming  the  fortitude  with  which  he  sup- 
ports his  fall." 

The  countess  looked  steadfastly  on  her  fluctuating  coun- 
tenance. "Has  Constantine,  my  dear  girl,  hinted  to  you 
that  he  ever  was  otherwise  than  as  he  now  appears?" 

Miss  Beaufort  could  not  reply.  She  would  not  trust  her 
lips  with  words,  but  shook  her  head  in  sign  that  he  had 
not.  Lady  Tinemouth  was  too  well  read  in  the  human 
heart  to  doubt  for  an  instant  the  cause  of  her  question, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  277 

and  consequent  emotion.  Feeling  that  something  was 
due  to  an  anxiety  so  disinterested,  she  took  her  passive 
hand,  and  said,  "Mary,  you  have  guessed  rightly. 
Though  I  am  not  authorized  to  tell  you  the  real  name  of 
Mr.  Oonstantine,  nor  the  particulars  of  his  history,  yet  let 
this  satisfy  your  generous  heart,  that  it  can  never  be  more 
honorably  employed  than  in  compassionating  calamities 
which  ought  to  wreathe  his  young  brows  with  glory." 

Miss  Beaufort's  eyes  streamed  afresh,  while  her  exulting 
soul  seemed  ready  to  rush  from  her  bosom. 

"Mary!"  continued  the  countess,  warmed  by  the  recol- 
lection of  his  excellence,  "jrou  have  no  need  to  blush  at 
the  interest  which  you  take  in  this  a'miable  stranger! 
Every  trial  of  spirit  which  could  have  tortured  youtb  or 
manhood  has  been  endured  by  him  with  the  firmness  of  a 
hero.  Ah,  my  sweet  friend,"  added  the  countess,  press- 
ing the  hand  of  the  confused  Miss  Beaufort,  who,  ashamed, 
and  conscious  that  her  behavior  betrayed  how  dearly  she 
considered  him,  had  covered  her  face  with  her  handker- 
chief, "when  you  are  disposed  to  believe  that  a  man  is 
as  great  as  his  titles  and  personal  demands  seem  to  assert, 
examine  with  a  nice  observance  whether  his  pretensions 
be  real  or  artificial.  Imagine  him  disrobed  of  splendor 
and  struggling  with  the  world's  inclemencies.  If  his 
character  cannot  stand  this  ordeal,  he  is  only  a  vain 
pageant,  inflated  and  garnished;  and  it  is  reasonable  to 
punish  such  arrogance  with  contempt.  But  on  the  con- 
trary, when,  like  Oonstantine,  he  rises  from  the  ashes  of 
his  fortunes  in  a  brighter  blaze  of  virtue,  then,  dearest 
girl,"  cried  the  countess,  encircling  her  with  her  arms, 
"it  is  the  sweetest  privilege  of  loveliness  to  console  and 
bless  so  rare  a  being." 

Mary  raised  her  weeping  face  from  the  bosom  of  her 
friend,  and  clasping  her  hands  together  with  trepidation 
and  anguish,  implored  her  to  be  as  faithful  to  her  secret 
as  she  had  proved  herself  to  Constantine's.  "I  would 
sooner  die,"  added  she,  "than  have  him  know  my  rash- 
ness, perhaps  my  indelicacy!  Let  me  possess  his  esteem, 
Lady  Tinemouth !  Let  him  suppose  that  I  only  esteem 
him!  More  I  should  shrink  from.  I  have  seen  him  beset 
by  some  of  my  sex;  and  to  be  classed  with  them — to  have 
him  imagine  that  my  affection  is  like  theirs — I  could  not 
bear  it.     I  entreat  you,  let  him  respect  me!" 


2?8  TSADDStTS  OF  WARSAW. 

The  impetuosity,  and  almost  despair,  with  which  Miss 
Beauiort  uttered  these  incoherent  sentences  penetrated 
the  soul  of  Lady  Tineraouth  with  admiration.  How  dif- 
ferent was  the  spirit  of  this  pure  and  dignified  love  to  the 
wild  passion  she  had  seen  shake  the  frame  of  Lady  Sara 
Eoss. 

They  remained  silent  for  some  time. 

"May  I  see  your  ladyship  to-morrow?"  asked  Mary, 
drawing  her  cloak  about  her. 

"I  fear  not,"  replied  the  countess;  "I  leave  this  house 
to-morrow  morning." 

Miss  Beaufort  rose;  her  lips,  hands,  and  feet  trembled 
so  that  she  could  hardly  stand.  Lady  Tinemouth  put  her 
arm  round  her  waist,  and  kissing  her  forehead,  added, 
"Heaven  bless  you,  my  sweet  friend!  May  all  the  wishes 
of  your  innocent  heart  be  gratified !" 

The  countess  supported  her  to  the  door.  Mary  hesi- 
tated an  instant;  then  flingiug  her  snowy  arms  over  her 
ladyship's  neck,  in  a  voice  scarcely  audible,  articulated, 
"Only  tell  me,  does  he  love  Euphemia?" 

Lady  Tinemouth  strained  her  to  her  breast.  "No,  my 
dearest  girl;  I  am  certain,  both  from  what  I  have  heard 
him  say  and  observed  in  his  eyes,  that  did  he  dare  to  love 
any  one,  you  would  be  the  object  of  his  choice." 

How  Miss  Beaufort  got  into  Lady  Dundas'  sedan-chair 
she  had  no  recollection,  so  completely  was  she  absorbed  in 
the  recent  scene.  Her  mind  was  perplexed,  her  heart 
ached;  and  she  arrived  in  Harley  Street  so  much  disor- 
dered and  unwell  as  to  oblige  her  to  retire  immediately  to 
her  room,  with  the  excuse  of  a  violent  pain  in  her  head. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

PAS8ION  AND  PRINCIPLE. 

This  interview  induced  Lady  Tinemouth  to  destroy  the 
note  she  had  written  to  Thaddeus,  and  to  frame  another, 
better  calculated  to  produce  comfort  to  all  parties.  What 
she  had  declared  to  Mary  respecting  the  state  of  the 
count's  affections  was  sincere. 

JShe  had  early  pierced  the  veil  of  bashfulness  with  which 


TBADDEUS  OP  WARSAW.  2?9 

Miss  Beaufort  overshadowed,  when  in  his  presence,  that 
countenance  so  usually  the  tablet  other  soul.  The  count- 
ess easily  translated  the  quick  receding  of  her  eye  when- 
ever Thaddeus  turned  his  attention  toward  her,  the  con- 
fused reply  that  followed  any  unexpected  question  from 
his  lips,  and,  above  all,  the  unheeded  sighs  heaved  by  her 
when  he  left  the  room,  or  when  his  name  was  mentioned 
during  his  absence.  These  symptoms  too  truly  revealed 
to  Lady  Tinemouth  the  state  of  her  young  friend's  bosom. 

But  the  circumstances  being  different,  her  observations 
on  Thaddeus  were  not  nearly  so  conclusive.  Mary  had 
absolutely  given  the  empire  of  her  happiness,  with  her 
heart,  into  his  hands.  Thaddeus  felt  that  his  ruined 
hopes  ought  to  prevent  him  laying  his  at  her  feet,  could 
he  even  be  made  to  believe  that  he  had  found  any  favor 
in  her  sight;  and  regarding  her  as  a  being  beyond  his 
reach,  he  conceived  no  suspicion  that  she  entertained  one 
dearer  thought  of  him  than  what  mere  philanthropy  could 
authorize. 

He  contemplated  her  unequaled  beauty,  graces,  talents, 
and  virtues  with  an  admiration  bordering  on  idolatry;  yet 
his  heart  flew  from  the  confession  that  he  loved  her;  and 
it  was  not  until  reason  demanded  of  his  sincerity  why  he 
felt  a  pang  on  seeing  Mary's  purse  in  the  hands  of  Mr. 
Lascelles,  that  with  a  glowing  cheek  he  owned  to  himself 
that  he  was  jealous:  that  although  he  had  not  presumed 
to  elevate  one  wish  toward  the  possession  of  Miss  Beaufort, 
yet  when  Lascelles  flaunted  her  name  on  his  tongue,  he 
found  how  deep  would  be  the  wound  in  his  peace  should 
she  ever  give  her  hand  to  another  than  himself. 

Confounded  at  this  discovery  of  a  passion  the  seeds  of 
which  he  supposed  had  been  crushed  by  the  weight  of  his 
misfortunes  and  the  depths  of  his  griefs,  he  proceeded 
homeward  in  a  trance  of  thought,  not  far  differing  from 
that  of  the  dreamer  who  sinks  into  a  harassing  slumber, 
and,  filled  with  terror,  doubts  whether  he  be  sleeping  or 
awake. 

The  sudden  illness  of  General  Butzon  having  put  these 
ideas  to  flight,  Thaddeus  was  sitting  on  the  bedside,  with 
his  anxious  thoughts  fixed  on  the  pale  spectacle  of  mor- 
tality before  him,  when  Nanny  brought  in  a  letter  from 
the  countess.  He  took  it,  and  going  to  the  window,  read 
with  mingled  feelings  the  following  epistle: 


280  TBADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"To  Mr.  Constantine: 

"I  know  not,  my  dear  count,  when  I  shall  be  permitted 
to  see  you  again:  perhaps  never  on  this  side  of  the  grave! 

"Since  Heaven  has  denied  me  the  tenderness  of  my  own 
children,  it  would  have  been  a  comfort  to  me  might  I  have 
continued  to  act  a  parent's  part  by  you.  But  my  cruel 
lord,  and  my  more  cruel  son,  jealous  of  the  consolation  I 
meet  in  the  society  of  my  few  intimate  friends,  command 
me  to  quit  London;  and  as  I  have  ever  made  it  a  rule  to 
conform  to  their  injunctions  to  the  furthest  extent  of 
my  power,  I  shall  go. 

"It  pierces  me  to  the  soul,  my  dear  son  (allow  my 
maternal  heart  to  call  you  by  that  name);  it  distresses  me 
deeply  that  I  am  compelled  to  leave  the  place  where  you 
are,  and  the  more  that  I  cannot  see  you  before  my  depar- 
ture, for  I  quit  town  early  to-morrow. 

"Write  to  me  often,  my  loved  Sobieski;  your  letters 
will  be  some  alleviation  to  my  lot  during  the  fulfillment 
of  my  hard  duty. 

"Wear  the  inclosed  gold  chain  for  my  sake;  it  is  one  of 
two  given  me  a  long  time  ago  by  Miss  Beaufort.  If  I 
have  not  greatly  mistaken  yon,  the  present  will  now  pos- 
sess a  double  value  in  your  estimation:  indeed  it  ought. 
Sensibility  and  thankfulness  being  properties  of  your 
nature,  they  will  not  deny  a  lively  gratitude  to  the  gener- 
ous interest  with  which  that  amiable  and  noble  young 
woman  regards  your  fate.  It  is  impossible  that  the  avowed 
Count  Sobieski  (whom,  a  year  ago,  I  remember  her  ani- 
mated fancy  painted  in  colors  worthy  of  his  actions)  could 
excite  more  of  her  esteem  than  I  know  she  has  bestowed 
on  the  untitled  Constantine. 

"She  is  all  nobleness  and  affection.  For,  although  I 
am  sensible  that  she  would  leave  much  behind  her  in  Lon- 
don to  regret,  she  insists  on  accompanying  me  to  the 
Wolds.  Averse  to  transgress  so  far  on  her  goodness,  I 
firmly  refused  her  offer  until  this  evening,  when  I  received 
so  warm  and  urgent  a  letter  from  her  disinterested,  gener- 
ous heart  that  I  could  no  longer  withhold  my  grateful 
assent. 

"Indeed,  this  lovely  creature's  active  friendship  proves 
of  high  consequence  to  me  now,  situated  as  I  am  with  re- 
gard to  a  new  whim  of  the  earl's.  Had  she  not  thus 
urged  me,  in  obedience  to  my  lord's  commands  I  should 


THADDEUS  OF  WA USA  W.  '  j&gl 

have  been  obliged  to  go  alone,  he  having  taken  some  wild 
antipathy  to  Miss  Egerton,  whose  company  he  has  inter- 
dicted. At  an}'  rate,  her  parents  would  not  have  allowed 
me  her  society  much  longer,  for  Mr.  Montresor  is  to  re- 
turn this  month. 

"I  shall  not  be  easy,  my  dear  count,  until  I  hear  from 
you.  Pray  write  soon,  and  inform  me  of  every  particular 
respecting  the  poor  general.     Is  he  likely  to  recover? 

"In  all  things,  my  loved  son,  in  which  I  can  serve  you, 
remember  that  I  expect  you  will  refer  }'ourself  to  me  as  to 
a  mother.  Your  own  could  hardly  have  regarded  you  with 
deeper  tenderness  than  does  your  affectionate  and  faithful 

"Adeliza  Tistemouth. 

"Grosvenor  Place,  Thursday,  Midnight. 

"Direct  to  me  at  Harwold  Place,  Wolds,  Lincolnshire." 

Several  opposite  emotions  agitated  the  mind  of  Thaddeus 
while  reading  this  epistle — increased  abhorrence  of  the 
man  whom  he  believed  to  be  his  father,  and  distress  at  the 
increase  of  his  cruelty  to  his  unhappy  wife!  Yet  these 
could  neither  subdue  the  balmy  effect  of  her  maternal 
affection  toward  himself  nor  wholly  check  the  emotion 
which  the  unusual  mentioning  of  Miss  Beaufort's  name 
had  caused  his  heart  to  throb.  He  read  the  sentence 
which  contained  the  assurance  of  her  esteem  a  third  time. 

"Delicious  poison!"  cried  he,  kissing  the  paper;  "if 
adoring  thee,  lovely  Mary,  be  added  to  my  other  trials,  I 
shall  be  resigned !  There  is  sweetness  even  in  the  thought. 
Could  I  credit  all  which  my  dear  Lady  Tinemouth  affirms, 
the  conviction  that  I  possess  one  kind  solicitude  in  the 
mind  of  Miss  Beaufort  would  be  ample  compensation 
for " 

He  did  not  finish  the  sentence,  but  sighing  profoundly, 
rose  from  his  chair. 

"For  anything,  except  beholding  her  the  bride  of  an- 
other!" was  the  sentiment  with  which  his  heart  swelled. 
Thaddeus  had  never  known  a  selfish  wish  in  his  life; 
and  this  first  instance  of  his  desiring  that  good  to  be  unap- 
propriated which  he  might  not  himself  enjoy,  made  him 
start. 

"There  is  an  evil  in  my  breast  I  wotted  not  of  !"  Dis- 
satisfied with  himself  at  this,  he  was  preparing  to  answei 


282  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

her  ladyship's  letter,  when  turning  to  the  date,  he  dis- 
covered that  it  had  been  written  on  Thursday  night,  and 
in  consequence  of  Nanny's  neglect  in  not  calling  at  the 
coffee-house,  had  been  delayed  a  day  and  a  half  before  it 
reached  him. 

His  disappointment  at  this  accident  was  severe.  She 
was  gone,  and  Miss  Beaufort  along  with  her. 

"Then,  indeed,  I  am  unfortunate.  Yet  this  treasure!" 
cried  he,  fondly  clasping  the  separated  bracelet  in  his 
hand;  "it  will,  indeed,  be  a  representative  of  both — hon- 
ored, beloved — to  this  deserted  heart!" 

He  put  the  chain  round  his  neck,  and,  with  a  true 
lover-like  feeling,  thought  that  it  warmed  the  heart  which 
mortification  had  chilled ;  but  the  fancy  was  evanescent, 
and  he  again  turned  to  watch  the  fading  life  of  his  friend. 

During  the  lapse  of  a  few  days,  in  which  the  general 
appeared  merely  to  breathe,  Thaddeus,  instead  of  his 
attendance,  dispatched  regular  notes  of  excuse  to  Harley 
Street.  In  answer  to  these,  he  commonly  received  little 
tender  billets  from  Euphemia,  the  strain  of  which  he 
seemed  totally  to  overlook,  by  the  cold  respect  he  evinced 
in  his  continued  diurnal  apologies  for  absence. 

This  young  lady  was  so  full  of  her  own  lamentations 
over  the  trouble  which  her  elegant  tutor  must  endure  in 
watching  his  sick  friend  that  she  never  thought  it  worth 
while  to  mention  in  her  notes  any  creature  in  the  house 
excepting  herself,  and  her  commiseration.  Thaddeus 
longed  to  inquire  about  Miss  Beaufort;  but  the  more  he 
wished  it,  the  greater  was  his  reluctance  to  write  her 
name. 

Things  were  in  this  situation,  when  one  evening,  as  he 
was  reading  by  the  light  of  a  solitary  candle  in  his  little 
sitting-room,  the  door  opened,  and  Nanny  stepped  in,  fol- 
lowed by  a  female  wrapped  in  a  large  black  cloak.  Thad- 
deus rose. 

"A  lady,  sir,"  said  Nanny,  courtesying. 

The  moment  the  girl  withdrew  the  visitor  cast  herself 
into  a  chair,  and  sobbing  aloud,  seemed  in  violent  agita- 
tion. Thaddeus,  astonished  and  alarmed,  approached  her, 
and,  though  she  was  unknown,  offered  her  every  assistance 
in  his  power. 

Catching  hold  of  the  hand  which,  with  the  greatest  re- 
spect, he  extended  toward  her,  she  instantly  displayed  tc 
his  dismayed  sight  the  features  of  Lady  Sara  Boss. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  283 

''Meroifiii  Heaven!"  exclaimed  he,  involuntarily  start- 
ing back. 

"Do  not  cast  me  off,  Constantine!"  cried  she,  clasping 
his  arm,  and  looking  up  to  him  with  a  face  of  anguish; 
"on  you  alone  I  now  depend  for  happiness — for  existence!" 

A  cold  damp  stood  on  the  forehead  of  her  auditor. 

"Dear  Lady  Sara,  what  am  I  to  understand  by  this 
emotion?  Has  anything  dreadful  happened?  Is  Captain 
Eoss " 

Lady  Sara  shuddered,  and  still  grasping  his  hand,  an- 
swered with  words  every  one  of  which  palsied  the  heart  of 
Thaddeus.  "He  is  coming  home.  He  is  now  at  Ports- 
mouth. Oh,  Constantine!  I  am  not  yet  so  debased  as  to 
live  with  him  when  my  heart  is  yours." 

At  this  shameful  declaration,  Thaddeus  clinched  his 
teeth  in  agony  of  spirit;  and  placing  his  hand  upon  his 
eyes,  to  shut  her  from  his  sight,  he  turned  suddenly  round 
and  walked  toward  another  part  of  the  room. 

Lady  Sara  followed  him.  Her  cloak  having  fallen  off, 
now  displayed  her  fine  form  in  all  the  fervor  of  grief  and 
distraction.  She  wrung  her  fair  and  jeweled  arms  in  de- 
spair, and  with  accents  rendered  more  piercing  by  the 
anguish  of  her  mind,  exclaimed:  "What!  You  hate  me? 
You  throw  me  from  you?  Cruel,  barbarous  Constantine! 
Can  you  drive  from  your  feet  the  woman  who  adores  you? 
Can  you  cast  her  who  is  without  a  home  into  the  streets?" 
^  Thaddeus  felt  his  hand  wet  with  her  tears.  He  fixed 
his  eyes  upon  her  with  almost  delirious  horror.  Her  hat 
being  off,  gave  freedom  to  her  long  black  hair,  which, 
falling  in  masses  over  her  figure  and  face,  gave  such  addi- 
tional wildness  to  the  imploring  and  frantic  expression  of 
her  eyes  that  his  distracted  soul  felt  reeling  within  him. 

"Eise,  madam!  For  Heaven's  sake,  Lady  Sara!"  and 
he  stooped  to  raise  her. 

"Never!"  cried  she,  clinging  to  him — "never!  till  you 

fromise  to  protect  me.  My  husband  comes  to-night,  and 
have  left  his  house  forever.  You — you !"  exclaimed  she, 
extending  her  hand  to  his  averted  face;  "oh,  Constan- 
tine! you  have  robbed  me  of  my  peace!  On  your  account 
I  have  flown  from  my  home.  For  mercy's  sake,  do  not 
abandon  me!" 

"Lady  Sara,"  cried  he,  looking  in  desperation  around 
him,  "I  cannot  speak  to  you  in  this  position!  Rise,  T 
implore  youl" 


284  THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W. 

"Only,"  returned  she,  "only  say  that  yon  will  protect 
me — that  I  shall  find  shelter  here!  Say  this,  and  I  will 
rise  and  bless  you  forever." 

Thaddeus  stood  aghast,  not  knowing  how  to  reply. 
Terror-struck  at  the  violent  lengths  to  which  she  seemed 
determined  to  carry  her  unhappy  and  guilty  passion,  he 
in  vain  sought  to  evade  this  direct  demand.  Lady  Sara, 
perceiving  the  reluctance  and  horror  of  his  looks,  sprang 
from  her  knees,  while  in  a  more  resolute  voice  she  ex- 
claimed, "Then,  sir,  you  will  not  protect  me?  You  scorn 
and  desert  a  woman  whom  you  well  know  has  long  loved 
you — whom,  by  your  artful  behavior,  you  have  seduced  to 
this  disgrace!" 

The  count,  surprised  and  shocked  at  this  accusation, 
with  gentleness,  but  resolution,  denied  the  charge. 

Lady  Sara  again  melted  into  tears,  and  supporting  her 
tottering  frame  against  his  shoulder,  replied,  in  a  stifled 
voice,  "I  know  it  well:  I  have  nothing  to  blame  for  my 
wretched  state  but  my  own  weakness.  Pardon,  dear  Con- 
stantine,  the  dictates  of  my  madness!  Oh!  I  would  gladly 
owe  such  misery  to  any  other  source  than  myself!" 

"Then,  respected  lady,"  rejoined  Thaddeus,  gaining 
courage  from  the  mildness  of  her  manner,  "let  me  implore 
you  to  return  to  your  own  house!" 

"Don't  ask  me,"  cried  she,  grasping  his  hand.  "Oh, 
Constantine!  if  you  knew  what  it  was  to  receive  with 
smiles  of  affection  a  creature  whom  you  loathe,  you  would 
shrink  with  disgust  from  what  yon  require.  I  detest  Cap- 
tain Eoss.  Can  I  open  my  arms  to  meet  him,  when  my 
heart  excludes  him  forever?  Can  I  welcome  him  home 
when  I  wish  him  in  his  grave?" 

Sobieski  extricated  his  hand  from  her  grasp.  Her  lady- 
ship perceived  the  repugnance  which  dictated  this  action, 
and  with  renewed  violence  ejaculated,  "Unhappy  woman 
that  I  am!  to  hate  where  I  am  loved!  to  love  where  I  am 
hated!  Kill  me,  Constantine!"  cried  she,  turning  sud- 
denly toward  him,  and  sinking  down  on  a  chair,  "but  do 
not  give  me  such  another  look  as  that!" 

"Dear  Lady  Sara,"  replied  he,  seating  himself  by  her 
side,  "what  would  you  have  me  do?  You  see  that  I  have 
no  proper  means  of  protecting  you.  I  have  no  relations, 
no  friends  to  receive  you.  You  see  that  I  am  a  poor  man. 
Besides,  your  character " 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  285 

"Talk  not  of  my  character!"  cried  she:  "I  will  have 
none  that  does  not  depend  on  yon!  Cruel  Constantine! 
you  will  not  understand  me.  I  want  no  riches,  no  friends, 
but  yourself.  Give  me  your  home  and  your  arms,"  added 
she,  throwing  herself  in  an  agony  on  his  bosom,  "and  beg- 
gary would  be  paradise !  But  I  shall  not  bring  you  pov- 
erty; I  have  inherited  a  fortune  since  I  married  Koss,  on 
which  he  has  no  claim." 

Thaddeus  now  shrank  doubly  from  her.  Why  had  she 
not  felt  a  sacred  spell  in  that  husband's  name?  He  shud- 
dered and  tore  himself  from  her  clinging  arms.  Holding 
her  off  with  his  hand,  he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of  mental 
agony,  "Infatuated  woman!  leave  me,  for  his  honor  and 
your  own  peace." 

"No  no!"  cried  she,  hoping  she  had  gained  some  advan- 
tage over  his  agitated  feelings,  and  again  casting  herself 
at  his  feet,  exclaimed,  "Never  will  I  leave  this  spot  till 
you  consent  that  your  home  shall  be  my  home;  that  I 
shall  serve  you  forever!" 

Thaddeus  pressed  his  hands  upon  his  eyes,  as  if  he 
would  shut  her  from  his  sight.  But  with  streaming  tears 
she  added,  while  clasping  his  other  hand  to  her  throbbing 
bosom,  "Exclude  me  not  from  those  dear  eyes!  reject  me 
not  from  being  your  true  wife,  your  willing  slave!" 

Thaddeus  heard  this,  but  he  did  not  look  on  her,  neither 
did  he  answer.  He  broke  from  her,  and  fled,  in  a  stupor 
of  horror  at  his  situation,  into  the  apartment  where  the 
general  lay  in  a  heavy  sleep. 

Little  expecting  to  see  any  one  but  the  man  she  loved, 
Lady  Sara  rushed  in  after  him,  and  was  again  wildly  press- 
ing toward  her  determined  victim,  when  her  eyes  were 
suddenly  arrested  by  a  livid,  and,  she  thought,  dead  face 
of  a  person  lying  on  the  bed.  Fixed  to  the  spot,  she 
stood  for  a  moment;  then  putting  her  spread  hand  on  her 
forehead,  uttered  a  faint  cry,  and  fell  soul-struck  to  the 
floor. 

Having  instant  conviction  of  her  mistake,  Thaddeus 
eagerly  seized  the  moment  of  her  insensibility  to  convey 
her  home.  He  hastily  went  to  the  top  of  the  stairs,  called 
to  Nanny  to  run  for  a  coach,  and  then  returning  to  the 
extended  figure  of  Lady  Sara,  lifted  her  in  his  arms  and 
carried  her  back  to  the  room  they  had  left. 

By  the  help  of  a  little  water,  he  restored  her  to  a  sense 


286  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

j 
of  existence.  She  slowly  opened  her  eyes;  then  raising 
her  head,  looked  round  with  a  terrified  air,  when  her  eye 
falling  on  the  still  open  door  of  the  general's  room,  she 
caught  Thaddeus  by  the  arm,  and  said,  in  a  shuddering 
voice,  "Oh!  take  me  hence." 

While  she  yet  spoke,  the  coach  stopped  at  the  door. 
The  count  rose,  and  attempted  to  support  her  agitated 
frame  on  his  arm;  but  she  trembled  so,  he  was  obliged  to 
almost  carry  her  downstairs. 

When  he  placed  her  in  the  carriage,  she  said,  in  a  faint 
tone,  "You  surely  will  not  leave  me?" 

Thaddeus  made  no  reply;  then  desiring  Nanny  to  sit  by 
the  general  until  his  return,  which  should  be  in  a  few 
minutes,  and  having  stepped  into  the  coach,  Lady  Sara 
snatched  his  hand,  while  in  dismayed  accents  she  quickly 
said: 

"Who  was  that  fearful  person?" 

"Alas!  the  revered  friend  whose  long  illness  Lady  Tine- 
mouth  has  sometimes  mentioned  in  your  presence." 

Lady  Sara  shuddered  again,  but  with  a  rush  of  tears, 
while  she  added  imploringly,  "Then,  whither  are  you 
going  to  take  me?" 

"You  shall  again,  dear  Lady  Sara,"  replied  he,  "return 
to  a  guiltless  and  peaceful  home." 

"I  cannot  meet  my  husband,"  cried  she,  wringing 
her  hands;  "he  will  see  all  my  premeditated  guilt  in  my 
countenance.  Oh!  Constantine,  have  pity  on  me!  Mis- 
erable creature  that  lam!  It  is  horrible  to  live  without 
you!  It  is  dreadful  to  live  with  him!  Take  me  not 
home,  I  entreat  you!" 

The  count  took  her  clasped  hands  in  his,  saying: 

"Reflect  for  a  moment.  Lady  Tinemouth's  eulogiums 
on  our  first  acquaintance  taught  me  to  honor  you.  I  be- 
lieve that  when  you  distinguished  me  with  any  portion  of 
your  regard,  it  was  in  consequence  of  virtues  which  yon 
thought  I  possessed." 

"Indeed,  you  do  me  justice!"  cried  she,  with  renewed 
energy. 

He  continued,  feeling  that  he  must  be  stern  in  words  as 
well  as  in  purpose  if  he  would  really  rescue  her  from  her- 
self. "Think,  then,  should  I  yield  to  the  influence  of 
your  beauty,  and  sink  your  respected  name  to  a  level  with 
those?"   and  he  pointed  to  a  group  of  wretched  women 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  287 

assembled  at  the  corner  of  Pall  Mall.  ''Think,  where 
would  be  the  price  of  your  innocence?  I  being  no  longer 
worthy  of  your  esteem,  you  would  hate  yourself;  and  we 
should  continue  together,  two  guilty  creatures,  abhorring 
each  other,  and  justly  despised  by  a  virtuous  world." 

Lady  Sara  sat  as  one  dumb,  and  did  not  articulate  any 
sound — except  the  groan  of  horror  which  had  shot  through 
her  when  she  had  glanced  at  those  women — until  the 
coach  stopped  in  James'  Place. 

"Go  in  with  me,"  were  all  the  words  she  could  utter, 
while,  pulling  her  veil  over  her  face,  she  gave  him  her 
hand  to  assist  her  down  the  steps. 

"Is  Captain  Ross  arrived?"  asked  Thaddeus  of  a  serv- 
ant, who,  to  his  great  joy,  replied  in  the  negative.  Dur- 
ing the  drive,  he  had  alarmed  himself  by  anticipating  the 
disagreeable  suspicions  which  might  rise  in  the  mind  of 
the  husband  should  he  see  his  wife  in  her  present  strange 
and  distracted  state. 

When  Thaddeus  seated  Lady  Sara  in  her  drawing-room, 
he  offered  to  take  a  respectful  leave;  but  she  laid  one  hand 
on  his  arm,  while  with  the  other  she  covered  her  con- 
vulsed features,  and  said,  "Constantine,  before  you  go, 
before  we  part,  perhaps  eternally,  oh !  tell  me  that  you  do 
not,  even  now,  hate  me — that  you  do  not  hate  me!"  re- 
peated she,  in  a  firmer  tone;  "I  know  too  well  how  deeply 
I  am  despised.'" 

"Cease,  ah,  cease  these  vehement  self-reproaches!" 
returned  he,  tenderly  replacing  her  on  the  sofa.  "Shame 
does  not  depend  on  possessing  passions,  but  in  yielding  to 
them.  Yon  have  conquered  yours,  dear  Lady  Sara;  and 
in  future  I  must  respect  and  love  you  like  a  sister  of  my 
heart." 

"Noble  Constantine!  there  is  no  guile  in  thee,"  ex- 
claimed she,  straining  his  hand  to  her  lips.  "May  Heaven 
bless  you  wherever  you  go!" 

He  dropped  on  his  knees,  imprinted  on  both  her  hands 
a  true  brother's  sacred  kiss,  and,  hastily  rising,  was  quit- 
ting the  room  without  a  word,  when  he  heard,  in  a  short, 
low  sound  from  her  voice,  "Oh,  why  had  I  not  a  mother, 
a  sister,  to  love  and  pity  me!  Should  I  have  been  such  a 
wretch  as  now?" 

Thaddeus  turned  from  the  door  at  the  tone  and  sub- 
stance of  this  apparently  unconsciously  uttered  apostrophe. 


2?8  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

She  was  standing  with  her  hands  clasped,  and  her  eyes 
fixed  on  the  ground.  By  an  irresistible  impulse  he  ap- 
proached her.  "Lady  Sara/'  said  he,  with  a  tender 
reverence  in  his  voice,  "there  is  penitence  and  prayer  to  a 
better  Parent  in  those  words!  Look  up  to  him,  and  he 
will  save  you  from  yourself,  and  bless  you  in  your  hus- 
band.'' 

She  did  raise  her  eyes  at  this  adjuration,  and  without 
one  earthward  glance  at  her  young  monitor  in  their  move- 
ment to  the  heaven  she  sought.  Neither  did  she  speak, 
but  pressed,  with  an  unutterable  emotion,  the  hand  which 
now  held  hers,  while  his  own  heart  did  indeed  silently  re- 
echo the  prayer  he  saw  in  her  upward  eyes.  Turuing 
gently  away,  he  glided,  in  a  suffusion  of  grateful  tears, 
out  of  the  apartment. 


CHAPTEE  XXXIV. 

REQUISECAT    IN    PACE. 

The  dream-like  amazement  which  enveloped  the  count's 
faculties  after  the  preceding  scene  was  dissipated  next 
morning  by  the  appearance  of  Dr.  Cavendish.  When  he 
saw  the  general,  he  declared  it  to  be  his  opinion  that,  in 
consequence  of  his  long  and  tranquil  slumbers,  some 
favorable  crisis  seemed  near.  "Probably,"  added  he, 
"the  recovery  of  his  intellects.  Such  phenomena  in  these 
cases  often  happen  immediately  before  death." 

"Heaven  grant  it  may  in  this!"  ejaculated  Thaddeus; 
"to  hear  his  venerable  voice  again  acknowledge  that  I 
have  acted  by  him  as  became  the  grandson  of  his  friend, 
would  be  a  comfort  to  me." 

"But,  sir,"  replied  the  kind  physician,  touching  his 
burning  hand,  "you  must  not  forget  the  cares  which  are 
due  to  your  own  life.  If  you  wish  well  to  the  general 
during  the  few  days  he  may  have  to  live,  you  are  indis- 
pensably obliged  to  preserve  your  own  strength.  You  are 
already  ill,  and  require  air.  I  have  an  hour  of  leisure," 
continued  he,  pulling  out  his  watch;  "I  will  remain  here 
till  you  have  taken  two  or  three  walks  round  St.  James' 
Park.     It  is  absolutely  necessary;  in  this  instance  I  must 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  289 

take  the  privilege  of  friendship,   and   insist  on  obedi- 


ence." 


Seeing  the  benevolent  Cavendish  would  not  be  denied, 
Thaddeus  took  his  hat,  and  with  harassed  spirits  walke<£ 
down  the  lane  toward  Charing  Cross. 

On  entering  Spring  Garden  gate,  to  his  extreme  sur- 
prise the  first  objects  that  met  his  sight  were  Miss  Euphe- 
mia  Dundas  and  Miss  Beaufort. 

Euphemia  accosted  him  with  ten  thousand  inquiries 
respecting  his  friend,  besides  congratulations  on  his  own 
good  looks. 

Thaddeus  bowed;  then  smiling  faintly,  turned  to  the 
blushing  Mary,  who,  conscious  of  what  had  passed  in  the 
late  conversation  between  herself  and  Lady  Tinemouth, 
trembled  so  much  that,  fearing  to  excite  the  suspicion  of 
Euphemia  by  such  tremor,  she  withdrew  her  arm,  and 
Avalked  forward  alone,  tottering  at  every  step. 

"I  thought,  Miss  Beaufort,"  said  he,  addressing  himself 
to  her,  "that  Lady  Tinemouth  was  to  have  had  the  happi- 
ness of  your  company  at  Harwold  Park?" 

'"Yes,"  returned  she,,  fearfully  raising  her  eyes  to  his 
face,  the  hectic  glow  of  which  conveyed  impressions  to  her 
different  from  those  which  Euphemia  expressed;  "but  to 
my  indescribable  alarm  and  disappointment,  the  morning 
after  I  had  written  to  fix  my  departure  with  her  ladyship, 
my  aunt's  foot  caught  in  the  iron  of  the  stair-carpet  as  she 
was  coming  downstairs,  and  throwing  her  from  the  top  to 
the  bottom,  broke  her  leg.  I  could  not  quit  her  a  moment 
during  her  agonies;  and  the  surgeons  having  expressed, 
their  fears  that  a  fever  might  ensue,  I  was  obliged  alto- 
gether to  decline  my  attendance  on  the  countess." 

"And  how  is  Miss  Dorothy?"  inquired  Thaddeus,  truly 
concerned  at  the  accident. 

"She  is  better,  though  confined  to  her  bed,"  replied 
Euphemia,  speaking  before  her  companion  could  open  her 
lips;  "and,  indeed,  poor  Mary  and  myself  have  been  such 
close  nurses,  my  mother  insisted  on  our  walking  out  to- 
day." 

"And  Lady  Tinemouth,"  returned  Thaddeus,  again 
addressing  Miss  Beaufort,  "of  course  she  went  alone?" 

"Alas,  yes!"  replied  she;  "Miss  Egerton  was  forced  to 
join  her  family  in  Leicestershire." 

"I  believe,"  cried  Euphemia,  sighing,  "Miss  Egerton 


290  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

is  going  to  be  married.  Hers  has  been  a  long  attachment. 
Happy  girl!  I  have  heard  Captain  Ross  say  (whose  lien- 
tenant  her  intended  husband  was)  that  he  is  the  finest 
young  man  in  the  navy.  Did  you  ever  see  Mr.  Montre- 
sor?"  added  she,  turning  her  pretty  eyes  on  the  count. 

"I  never  had  that  pleasure." 

"Bless  me!  that  is  odd,  considering  your  intimacy  with 
Miss  Egerton.     I  assure  you  he  is  very  charming." 

Thaddeus  neither  heard  this  nor  a  great  deal  more  of 
the  same  trifling  chit-chat  which  was  slipping  from  the 
tongue  of  Miss  Euphemia,  so  intently  were  his  eyes  (sent 
by  his  heart)  searching  the  downcast  but  expressive  coun- 
tenance of  Miss  Beaufort.  His  soul  was  full;  and  the 
fluctuations  of  her  color,  with  the  embarrassment  of  her 
step,  more  than  affected  him. 

"Then  you  do  not  leave  town  for  some  time,  Miss  Beau- 
fort?" inquired  he;  "I  may  yet  anticipate  the  honor  of 
seeing "  he  hesitated  a  moment,  then  added  in  a  de- 
pressed tone — "your  aunt,  when  I  next  wait  on  the  Misses 
Dundas." 

"Our  stay  depends  entirely  on  her  health,"  returned 
she,  striving  to  rally  herself;  "and  I  am  sure  she  will  be 
happy  to  find  you  better;  for  I  am  sorry  to  say  I  cannot 
agree  with  Euphemia  in  thinking  you  look  well." 

"Merely  a  slight  indisposition,"  replied  he,  "the  effect 
of  an  anxiety  which  I  fear  will  too  soon  cease  in  the  death 
of  its  cause.  I  came  out  now  for  a  little  air,  while  the 
physician  remains  with  my  revered  friend." 

"Poor  old  gentleman!"  sighed  Mary;  "how  venerable 
was  his  appearance  the  morning  in  which  we  saw  him  in 
the  park!     What  a  benign  countenance!" 

"His  countenance,"  replied  Thaddeus,  his  eyes  turning 
mournfully  toward  the  lovely  speaker,  "is  the  emblem  of 
his  character.     He  was  the  most  amiable  of  men." 

"And  you  are  likely  to  lose  so  interesting  a  friend;  dear 
Mr.  Constantine,  how  I  pity  you!"  While  Euphemia 
uttered  these  words,  she  put  the  corner  of  her  glove  to 
her  eye. 

The  count  looked  at  her,  and  perceiving  that  her  com- 
miseration was  affectation,  he  turned  to  Miss  Beaufort, 
who  was  walking  pensively  by  his  side,  and  made  further 
inquiries  respecting  Miss  Dorothy.  Anxious  to  be  again 
with  his  invuJid,  he  was  preparing  to  quit   them,  when 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  291 

Mary,  as  with  a  full  heart  she  courtesied  her  adieu,  in  a 
hurried  and  confused  manner,  said:  "Pray,  Mr.  Constan- 
tine,  take  care  of  yourself.  You  have  other  friends  besides 
the  one  you  are  going  to  lose.     I  know  Lady  Tinemouth, 

I  know  my  aunt "     She  stopped  short,  and,  covered 

with  blushes,  stood  panting  for  anothe"  word  to  close  the 
sentence;  when  Thaddeus,  forgetting  all  presence  but  her 
own,  with  delighted  precipitancy  caught  hold  of  the  hand 
which,  in  her  confusion,  was  a  little  extended  toward  him, 
and  pressing  it  with  fervor,  relinquished  it  immediately; 
then,  overcome  by  confusion  at  the  presumption  of  the 
action,  he  bowed  with  agitation  to  both  ladies,  and  hastened 
through  the  Friary  passage  into  St.  James'  Street. 

"Miss  Beaufort!"  cried  Euphemia,  reddening  with 
vexation,  and  returning  a  perfumed  handkerchief  to  her 
pocket,  "I  did  not  understand  that  you  and  Mr.  Constan- 
tine  were  on  such  intimate  terms!" 

"What  do  you  mean,  Euphemia?" 

"That  you  have  betrayed  the  confidence  I  reposed  in 
you,"  cried  the  angry  beauty,  wiping  away  the  really 
starting  tears  with  her  white  lace  cloak.  "I  told  you  the 
elegant  Constantine  was  the  lord  of  my  heart;  and  you 
have  seduced  him  from  me!  Till  you  came,  he  was  so  re- 
spectful, so  tender,  so  devoted!  But  I  am  rightly  used! 
I  ought  to  have  carried  my  secret  to  the  grave." 

In  vain  Miss  Beaufort  protested;  in  vain  she  declared 
herself  ignorant  of  possessing  any  power  over  even  one 
wish  of  Constantine's.  Euphemia  thought  it  monstrous 
pretty  to  be  the  injured  friend  and  forsaken  mistress;  and 
all  along  the  park,  and  up  Constitution  Hill,  until  they 
arrived  at  Lady  Dundas'  carriage,  which  was  waiting 
opposite  Devonshire  Wall,  she  affected  to  weep.  AVhen 
seated,  she  continued  her  invectives.  She  called  Mis9 
Beaufort  ungenerous,  perfidious  traitor  to  friendship,  and 
every  romantic  and  disloyal  name  which  her  inflamed 
fancy  could  devise;  till  the  sight  of  Harley  Street  checked 
her  transports,  and  relieved  her  patient  hearer  from  a 
load  of  impertinence  and  reproach. 

During  this  short  interview,  Thaddeus  had  received  an 
impulse  to  his  affections  which  hurried  them  forward  with 
a  force  that  neither  time  nor  succeeding  sorrows  could 
stop  nor  stem. 

Mary's  heavenly  beaming  eyes  seemed  to  have  encircled 


093  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

his  head  with  love's  purest  halo.  The  command,  "Pre- 
serve yourself  for  others  besides  your  dying  friend,"  yet 
throbbed  at  his  heart;  and  with  ten  thousand  rapturous 
visions  flitting  before  his  sight,  he  trod  in  air,  until  the 
humble  door  of  his  melancholy  home  presenting  itself,  at 
once  wrecked  the  illusion,  and  offered  sad  reality  in  the 
person  of  his  emaciated  friend. 

On  the  count's  entrance  to  the  sick-chamber,  Dr. 
Cavendish  gave  him  a  few  directions  to  pursue  when  the 
general  should  awake  from  the  sleep  into  which  he  had 
been  sunk  for  so  many  hours.  With  a  heart  the  more  de- 
pressed from  its  late  unusual  exaltation,  Thaddeus  sat 
down  at  the  side  of  the  invalid's  bed  for  the  remainder  of 
the  day. 

At  five  in  the  afternoon,  General  Butzou  awoke.  See- 
ing the  count,  he  stretched  out  his  withered  hand,  and  as 
the  doctor  predicted,  accosted  him  rationally. 

"Come,  dear  Sobieski !     Come  nearer,  my  dear  master." 

Thaddeus  rose,  and  throwing  himself  on  his  knees,  took 
the  offered  hand  with  apparent  composure.  It  was  a  hard 
struggle  to  restrain  the  emotions  which  were  roused  by 
this  awful  contemplation — the  return  of  reason  to  the  soul 
on  the  instant  she  was  summoned  into  the  presence  of  her 
Maker ! 

"My  kind,  my  beloved  lord!"  added  Butzou,  "to  me 
you  have  indeed  performed  a  Christian's  part;  you  have 
clothed,  sheltered,  and  preserved  me  in  your  bosom. 
Blessed  son  of  my  most  honored  master!" 

The  good  old  man  put  the  hand  of  Thaddeus  to  his  lips. 
Thaddeus  could  not  speak. 

"I  am  going,  dear  Sobieski,"  continued  the  general,  in 
a  lower  voice,  "where  I  shall  meet  your  noble  grandfather, 
your  mother,  and  my  brave  countrymen;  and  if  Heaven 
grants  me  power,  I  will  tell  them  by  whose  labor  I  have 
lived,  on  whose  breast  I  have  expired." 

Thaddeus  could  no  longer  restrain  his  tears. 

"Dear,  dear  general!"  exclaimed  he,  grasping  his  hand; 
"my  grandfather,  my  mother,  my  country!  I  lose  them 
all  again  in  thee!  Oh!  would  that  the  same  summons 
took  me  hence!" 

"Hush!"  returned  the  dying  man;  "Heaven  reserves 
you,  my   honored  lord,  for  wise  purposes.     Youth  and 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW  293 

health  are  the  marks  of.  commission:*  you  possess  them, 
with  virtues  which  will  bear  you  through  the  contest.  1 
have  done;  and  my  merciful  Judge  has  evinced  his  pardon 
of  my  errors  by  sparing  me  in  my  old  age  and  leading  me 
to  die  with  you." 

Thaddeus  pressed  his  friend's  hand  to  his  streaming 
eyes,  and  promised  to  be  resigued.  Butzou  smiled  his 
satisfaction;  then  closing  his  eyelids,  he  composed  himself 
to  a  rest  that  was  neither  sleep  nor  stupor,  but  a  balmy 
serenity,  which  seemed  to  be  tempering  his  lately  re- 
covered soul  for  its  immediate  entrance  on  u,  world  of 
eternal  peace. 

At  nine  o'clock  his  breath  became  broken  with  quick 
sighs.  The  count's  heart  trembled,  and  he  drew  close  to 
the  pillow.  Butzou  felt  him;  and  opening  his  eyes  lan- 
guidly, articulated,  "Raise  my  head." 

Thaddeus  put  his  arm  under  his  neck,  and  lifting  him 
np,  reclined  him  against  his  bosom.  Butzou  grasped  his 
hands,  and  looking  gratefully  in  his  face,  said,  "The  arms 
of  a  soldier  should  be  a  soldier's  death-bed.  I  am  con- 
tent." 

He  lay  for  a  moment  on  the  breast  of  the  almost  faint- 
ing Thaddeus;  then  suddenly  quitting  his  hold,  he  cried, 

"I  lose  you,  Sobieski!     But  there  is "  and  he  gazed 

fixedly  forward. 

*  I  cannot  but  pause  here,  in  revising  the  volume,  to  publicly  ex- 
press the  emotion  (grateful  to  Heaven)  I  experienced  on  receiving  a 
letter  quoting  these  words,  many,  many  years  ago.  It  was  from  the 
excellent  Joseph  Fox,  the  well-known  Christian  philanthropist  of  our 
country,  who  spent  both  his  fortune  and  his  life  in  establishing  and 
sustaining  several  of  our  best  charitable  and  otherwise  patriotic  in- 
stitutions. And  once,  when  some  of  his  anxious  friends  would 
gladly  have  persuaded  Lira  to  grant  himself  more  personal  indul- 
gences, and  to  labor  less  in  the  then  recently  begun  plans  for  national 
education,  he  wrote  "to  the  author  of  '  Thaddeus  of  Warsaw,' "  and, 
quoting  to  her  those  words  from  the  work,  declared  "they  were  on 
his  heartl  and  he  would,  with  the  blessing  of  God,  perform  what  he 
believed  to  be  his  commission  to  the  last  powers  of  his  youth  and 
health." 

This  admirable  man  has  now  been  long  removed  to  his  heavenly 
country — to  the  everlasting  dwelling-place  of  the  just  made  perfect. 
And  such  recollections  cannot  but  make  an  historical  novel-writer  at 
least  feel  answerable  for  more,  in  his  or  her  pages,  than  the  purposes 
of  mere  amusement.  They  guide  by  examples.  Plutarcb,  in  his 
lives  of  Grecian  and  Roman  worthies,  taught  more  effectually  the 
heroic  and  virtuous  science  of  life  than  did  all  his  philosophies'  works 
put  together. 


294  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"I  am  here,"  exclaimed  the  count,  catching  his  motion- 
iess  hand.  The  dying  general  murmured  a  few  words 
more,  and  turning  his  face  inward,  breathed  his  last  sigh 
on  the  bosom  of  his  last  friend. 

For  a  minute  Sobieski  continued  incapable  of  thought 
or  action.  When  he  recovered  recollection,  he  withdrew 
from  his  melancholy  station.  Laying  the  venerable  re- 
mains back  on  the  bed,  he  did  not  trust  his  rallied  facul- 
ties with  a  second  trial,  but  hastening  downstairs,  was 
met  by  Mrs.  Kobson. 

"My  dear  madam,"  said  he,  "all  is  over  with  my  poor 
friend.  Will  you  do  me  the  kindness  to  perform  those 
duties  to  his  sacred  relics  which  I  cannot?" 

Thaddeus  would  not  allow  auy  person  to  watch  by  his 
friend's  coffin  besides  himself.  The  meditations  of  this 
solitary  night  presented  to  his  sound  and  sensible  mind 
every  argument  rather  to  induce  rejoicing  than  regret  that 
the  eventful  life  of  the  brave  Butzou  was  terminated. 

"Yes,  illustrious  old  man!"  cried  he,  gazing  on  his 
marble  features;  "if  valor  and  virtue  be  the  true  sources 
of  nobility,  thou  surely  wast  noble !  Inestimable  defender 
of  Stanislaus  and  thy  country!  thou  hast  run  a  long  and 
bright  career;  and  though  thou  art  fated  to  rest  in  the 
humble  grave  of  poverty,  it  will  be  embalmed  by  the  tears 
of  Heaven — it  will  be  engraven  on  my  heart." 

Thaddeus  did  not  weep  while  he  spoke.  Nor  did  he 
weep  when  he  beheld  the  mold  of  St.  Paul's,  Covent  Gar- 
den, close  from  his  view  the  last  remains  of  his  friend.  It 
began  to  rain.  The  uncovered  head  of  the  officiating 
minister  was  wet;  and  so  was  that  of  a  little  delicate  boy, 
in  8  black  cloak,  who  stood  near,  holding  the  aged  rector's 
hat  during  the  service.  As  the  shower  descended  faster, 
Dr.  Cavendish  put  his  arm  through  the  count's  to  draw 
him  away,  but  he  lingered  an  instant,  looking  on  the  mold 
while  the  sexton  piled  it  up.  "Wretched  Poland !"  sighed 
he;  "how  far  from  thee  lies  one  of  thy  bravest  sons!" 
The  words  were  breathed  in  so  low  a  murmur,  that  none 
heard  them  except  the  ear  of  Heaven !  and  that  little  boy, 
whose  gaze  had  been  some  time  fixed  on  Thaddeus,  and 
whose  gentle  heart  never  forgot  them. 

Dr.  Cavendish,  regarding  with  redoubled  pity  the  now 
doubly  desolated  exile  in  this  last  resignation  of  his  pa- 
rental friend  to  a  foreign  grave,  attempted  to  persuade  him 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  295 

to  return  with  him  to  dinner.  He  refused  the  kind  in- 
vitation, alleging,  with  a  faint  smile,  that  under  every 
misfortune  he  found  his  best  comforter  in  solitude. 

Respecting  the  resignation  and  manliness  of  this  answer, 
Dr.  Cavendish  urged  him  no  further;  but  expressing  his 
regret  that  he  could  not  see  him  again  until  the  end  of 
the  week,  as  he  was  obliged  to  go  to  Stanford  next  day  on 
a  medical  consultation,  he  shook  hands  with  him  at  the 
door  of  Mrs.  Robson,  and  bade  him  farewell. 

Thaddeus  entered  his  lonely  room,  and  fell  on  his  knees 
before  the  "ark  of  his  strength" — the  Holy  Book,  that 
had  been  the  gift  of  his  mother.  The  first  page  he  opened 
presented  to  him  the  very  words  which  had  poured  conso- 
lation into  his  sad  heart,  from  the  lips  of  the  venerable 
clergyman  when  he  met  him  on  his  entrance  into  the 
church-porch  before  the  coffin  of  his  friend ! 

"I  am  the  resurrection  and  the  life,  saith  the  Lord. 
He  that  believeth  in  me,  though  he  were  dead,  yet  shall 
he  live;  and  whosoever  liveth,  and  believeth  in  me,  shall 
never  die." 

After  reading  this,  how  truly  did  the  young  mourner 
feel  that  "Death  had  lost  its  sting — the  grave  its  victory." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

DEEP  ARE  THE   PURPOSES  OF  ADVERSITY. 

Next  morning,  when  the  Count  Sobieski  unfolded  the 
several  packets  of  papers  which  were  put  into  his  hands 
by  little  Nanny,  he  laid  them  one  after  the  other  on  the 
table,  and  sighing  heavily,  said  to  himself,  "Now  comes 
the  bitterness  of  poverty!  Heaven  only  knows  by  what 
means  I  shall  pay  these  heavy  charges." 

Mere  personal  privations,  induced  by  his  fallen  fortunes, 
excited  little  uneasiness  in  the  mind  of  Thaddeus.  As  he 
never  had  derived  peculiar  gratification  from  the  enjoyment 
of  a  magnificent  house,  splendid  table,  and  numerous  at- 
tendants, he  was  contented  in  the  field,  where  he  slept  on 
the  bare  ground,  and  snatched  his  hasty  meals  at  uncertain 
intervals.  Watching,  rough  fare,  and  other  hardships 
were  dust  in  the  path  of  honor;   he  had  dashed  through 


296  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

them  with  light  and  buoyant  spirits;  and  he  repined  as 
little  at  the  actual  wants  of  his  forlorn  state  in  exile,  until, 
compelled  by  friendship  to  contract  demands  which  he 
could  not  defray,  he  was  plunged  at  once  into  the  full 
horrors  of  poverty  and  debt. 

He  looked  at  the  amount  of  the  bills.  The  apothecary's 
was  twelve  pounds;  the  funeral  fifteen.  Thaddeus  turned 
pale.  The  value  of  all  that  he  possessed  would  not  pro- 
duce one-half  of  the  sum;  besides,  he  owed  five  guineas 
to  his  good  landlady,  for  numerous  little  comforts  procured 
for  his  deceased  friend. 

''Whatever  be  the  consequence,"  cried  he,  "that  excel- 
lent woman  shall  not  suffer  by  her  humanity!  If  I  have 
to  part  with  the  last  memorial  of  those  who  were  so  dear, 
she  shall  be  repaid." 

He  scarcely  had  ceased  speaking,  when  Nanny  reentered 
the  room,  and  told  him  the  apothecary's  young  man  and 
the  undertaker  were  both  below,  waiting  for  answers  to 
their  letters.  Reddening  with  disgust  at  the  unfeeling 
haste  of  these  men,  he  desired  Nanny  to  say  that  he  could 
not  see  either  of  them  to-day,  but  would  send  to  their 
houses  to-morrow. 

In  consequence  of  this  promise,  the  men  made  their 
bows  to  Mrs.  Robson  (who  too  well  guessed  the  reason  of 
this  message),  and  took  their  leave. 

When  Thaddeus  put  the  pictures  of  his  mother  and  the 
palatine,  with  other  precious  articles,  into  his  pocket,  he 
could  not  forbear  an  internal  invective  against  the 
thoughtless  meanness  of  the  Misses  Dundas,  who  had 
never  offered  any  further  liquidation  of  the  large  sum  they 
now  stood  indebted  to  him  than  the  trifling  note  which 
had  been  transmitted  to  him,  prior  to  his  attendance, 
through  the  hands  of  Lady  Tinemouth. 

While  his  necessities  reproached  them  for  this  illiberal 
conduct,  his  proud  heart  recoiled  at  making  a  request  to 
their  charity;  for  he  had  gathered  from  the  haughty  de- 
meanor of  Miss  Diana  that  what  he  was  entitled  to  de- 
mand would  be  given,  not  as  a  just  remuneration  for  labor 
received,  but  as  alms  of  humanity  to  an  indigent  emigrant. 
"I  would  rather  perish,"  cried  he,  putting  on  his  hat, 
"than  ask  that  woman  for  a  shilling." 

When  the  count  laid  his  treasure  on  the  table  of  the 
worthy  pawnbroker,  he  desired  to  have  the  value  of  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  207 

settings  of  the  pictures,  and  the  portraits  themselves  put 
into  leather  cases.  With  the  other  little  things,  there 
were  a  pair  of  gold  spurs,  the  peculiar  insignia  of  his 
princely  rank,  which  the  palatine  himself  had  buckled  on 
his  grandson's  heels  on  mounting  his  noble  charger,  for 
his  first  field.  There  was  a  peculiar  pang  in  parting  with 
these — a  sort  of  last  relic  of  what  he  had  been !  But  there 
was  no  alternative:  all  that  had  any  intrinsic  value  must 
pass  from  him. 

Having  examined  the  setting  of  the  miniatures  and  the 
gold  of  the  other  trinkets,  with  that  of  the  spurs  (which 
their  hard  service  had  something  marred),  Mr.  Burket 
declared,  on  the  word  of  an  honest  man,  that  he  could 
not  give  more  than  fifteen  pounds. 

With  difficulty  Thaddeus  stifled  as  torturing  a  sigh  as 
ever  distended  his  breast,  while  he  said : 

"I  will  take  it.  I  only  implore  you  to  be  careful  of  the 
things,  trifling  as  they  are;  circumstances  with  which 
they  were  connected  render  them  valuable  to  me." 

"You  may  depend  on  me,  sir,"  replied  the  pawnbroker, 
presenting  him  the  notes  and  acknowledgment. 

When  Thaddeus  took  them,  Mr.  Burket's  eye  was 
caught  by  the  ring  on  his  finger. 

"That  ring  seems  curious.  If  you  won't  think  me  im- 
pertinent, may  I  ask  to  look  at  it?" 

The  count  pulled  it  off,  and  forcing  a  smile,  replied.  "I 
suppose  it  is  of  little  jewel  value.  The  setting  is  slight, 
though  the  painting  is  fine." 

Burket  breathed  on  the  diamonds.  "If  you  were  to 
sell  it,"  returned  he,  "I  don't  think  it  would  fetch  more 
than  three  guineas.  The  diamonds  are  flawed,  and  the 
emeralds  would  be  of  little  use,  being  out  of  fashion  here; 
as  for  the  miniature,  it  goes  for  nothing." 

"Of  course,"  said  Thaddeus,  putting  it  on  again;  "but 
I  shall  not  part  with  it."  While  he  drew  on  his  glove, 
Mr.  Burket  asked  him  "whether  the  head  were  not  in- 
tended for  the  King  of  Poland." 

The  count,  surprised,  answered  in  the  affirmative. 

"I  thought  so,"  answered  the  man;  "it  is  very  like  two 
or  three  prints  which  I  had  in  my  shop  of  that  king.* 

*  The  author  has  a  very  correct  likeness  of  this  memorable  king, 
fopied  from  an  original  miniature;  and  it  is  not  one  of  the  least 
valued  portraits  in  a  little  room  which  contains  those  of  several  other 
heroes  of  different  couuuitia^tirwiidsaud  gallant  foes. 


298  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Indeed,  I  believe  I  have  them  somewhere  now:  these  mat- 
ters are  but  a  nine  days'  wonder,  and  the  sale  is  over. 

His  auditor  did  not  clearly  comprehend  him,  and  he 
told  him  so. 

"I  meant  nothing,"  continued  he,  "to  the  disparage- 
ment of  the  King  of  Poland,  or  of  any  other  great  person- 
age who  is  much  the  subject  of  conversation.  I  only  in- 
tended to  say  that  everything  has  its  fashion.  The  ruin 
of  Poland  was  the  fashionable  topic  for  a  month  after  it 
happened;  and  now  nobody  minds  it — it  is  forgotten." 

Thaddeus,  in  whose  bosom  all  its  miseries  were  written, 
with  a  clouded  brow  bowed  to  the  remarks  of  Mr.  Burket, 
and  in  silence  quitted  the  shop. 

Having  arrived  at  home,  he  discharged  his  debt  to  the 
worthy  Mrs.  Robson;  then  entering  his  room,  he  laid  the 
remainder  of  his  money  on  the  bills  of  the  two  claimants. 
It  was  unequal  to  the  demands  of  either;  yet,  in  some 
measure  to  be  just  to  both,  he  determined  on  dividing  it 
between  them,  and  to  promise  the  liquidation  of  the  rest 
by  degrees. 

Surely  he  might  hope  that,  even  should  the  Misses 
Dundas  entirely  forget  his  claims  on  them,  he  could,  in 
the  course  of  time,  make  drawings  sufficient  to  discharge 
the  residue  of  the  debt;  but  he  was  not  permitted  to  put 
this  calculation  to  the  trial. 

When  he  called  on  the  apothecary,  and  offered  him  only 
half  his  demand,  the  man  refused  it  with  insolence,  insist- 
ing upon  having  the  whole  then,  "or  he  would  make  him 
pay  for  it!"  Unused  to  the  language  of  compulsion  and 
vulgarity,  the  count  quitted  the  shop  saying  "he  was  at 
liberty  to  act  as  he  thought  fit."  With  no  very  serene 
countenance,  he  entered  the  undertaker's  warehouse. 
•This  man  was  civil;  to  him  Thaddeus  gave  the  entire  sum, 
half  of  which  the  apothecary  had  rejected  with  so  much 
derision.  The  undertaker's  politeness  a  little  calmed  the 
irritated  feelings  of  the  count,  who  returned  home  musing 
on  the  vile  nature  of  that  class  of  mankind  who  can  with 
indifference  heap  insult  upon  distress. 

Judging  men  by  his  own  disposition,  he  seldom  gave 
credence  to  the  possibility  of  such  conduct.  He  had  been 
told  of  dastardly  spirits,  but  never  having  seen  them,  and 
possessing  no  archetype  within  his  own  breast  of  what  he 
heard,  the  repeated  relation  passed  over  his  mind  without 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  299 

leaving  an  impression.  He  had  entered  the  world  filled 
with  animating  hopes  of  virtue  and  renown.  He  was 
virtuous;  he  became  powerful,  great,  and  renowned. 
Creation  seemed  paradise  to  his  eyes;  it  was  the  task  of 
adversity  to  teach  him  a  different  lesson  of  mankind.  Not 
less  virtuous,  not  less  great,  his  fortunes  fell:  he  became 
poor.  The  perfidy,  the  hard-heartedness  of  man,  made 
and  kept  him  friendless.  When  he  wanted  succor  and 
consolation,  he  found  the  world  peopled  by  a  race  too 
mean  even  to  bear  the  stamp  of  the  devil. 

While  Sobieski  Avas  employed  next  morning  at  his  draw- 
ing, Mrs.  Robson  sent  Nanny  to  say  that  there  were  two 
strange-looking  men  below  who  wanted  to  speak  with  him. 
Not  doubting  they  were  messengers  from  the  apothecary, 
he  desired  the  girl  to  show  them  upstairs.  When  they 
entered  his  room,  the  count  rose.  One  of  the  men  stepjied 
forward,  and  laying  a  slip  of  paper  on  the  table,  said,  "I 
arrest  you,  sir,  at  tire  suit  of  Messrs.  Vincent  &  Jack- 
son, apothecaries!" 

Thaddeus  colored;  but  suppressing  his  indignant  emo- 
tion, he  calmly  asked  the  men  whither  they  were  going  to 
take  him. 

"If  you  like,"  replied  one  of  them,  "you  may  be  well 
enough  lodged.  I  never  heard  a  word  against  Clement's 
in  Wych  Street." 

"Is  that  a  prison?"  inquired  Thaddeus. 

"No,  not  exactly  that,  sir,"  answered  the  other  man, 
laughing.  "You  seem  to  know  little  of  the  matter,  which, 
for  a  Frenchman,  is  odd  enough;  but  mayhap  you  have 
never  a  lock-up  house  in  France,  since  ye  pulled  down 
the  bastile!  Howsoever,  if  you  pay  well,  Mr.  Clements 
will  give  you  lodgings  as  long  as  you  like.  It  is  only  poor 
rogues  who  are  obligated  to  go  to  Newgate;  such  gemmen 
as  you  can  live  as  ginteely  in  Wych  Street  as  at  their 
own  houses." 

There  was  such  an  air  of  derision  about  this  fellow  while 
he  spoke,  and  glanced  around  the  room,  that  Thaddeus, 
sternly  contracting  his  brows,  took  no  further  notice  of 
him,  but,  turning  toward  his  more  civil  companion,  he 
said: 

"Has  this  person  informed  me  rightly?  Am  I  going  to 
a  prison,  or  am  1  not?  If  I  do  not  possess  money  to  pay 
Mr.  Jackson,  I  can  have  non«  to  spend  elsewhere." 


300  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"Then  yon  mnst  go  to  Newgate!"  answered  the  man, 
in  as  surly  a  tone  as  his  comrade's  had  been  insolent. 

"I'll  run  for  a  coach,  Wilson,"  cried  the  other,  opening 
the  room  door. 

"I  will  not  pay  for  one,"  said   Thaddeus,  at  once  com- 
prehending the  sort  of  wretches  into  whose  custody  he  had 
fallen;  "follow  me  downstairs.     I  shall  walk." 
(     Mrs.  Eobson  was  in  her  shop  as  he  passed  to  the  street. 
She  called  out,  "You  will  come  home  to  dinner,  sir?" 

"No,"  replied  he;  "but  you  shall  hear  from  me  before 
night." 

The  men,  winking  at  each  other,  sullenly  pursued  his 
steps  down  the  lane.  In  the  Strand,  Thaddeus  asked 
them  which  way  he  was  to  proceed. 

"Straight  on,"  cried  one  of  them;  "most  folks  find  the 
road  to  a  jail  easy  enough." 

Involved  in  thought,  the  count  walked  forward,  unmind- 
ful of  the  stare  which  the  well-known  occupation  of  his 
attendants  attracted  toward  him.  When  he  arrived  at 
Somerset  House,  one  of  the  men  stepped  up  to  him,  and 
said,  "We  are  now  nearly  opposite  Wych  Street.  You 
had  better  take  your  mind  again,  and  go  there  instead  of 
Newgate.  I  don't  think  your  honor  will  like  the  debtor's 
hole." 

Thaddeus,  coldly  thanking  him,  repeated  his  determi- 
nation to  be  led  to  Newgate.  But  when  he  beheld  the 
immense  walls,  within  which  he  believed  he  should  be 
immured  for  life,  his  feet  seemed  rooted  to  the  ground; 
and  when  the  massive  doors  were  opened  and  closed  upon 
him,  he  felt  as  if  suddenly  deprived  of  the  vital  spring  of 
existence.  A  mist  spread  over  his  eyes,  his  soul  shud- 
dered, and  with  difficulty  he  followed  the  men  into  the 
place  where  his  commitment  was  to  be  ratified.  Here  all 
the  proud  energies  of  his  nature  again  rallied  round  his 
heart. 

The  brutal  questions  of  the  people  in  office,  reechoed 
by  taunts  from  the  wretches  who  had  brought  him  to  the 
prison,  were  of  a  nature  so  much  beneath  his  answering 
that  he  stood  perfectly  silent  during  the  business;  and 
when  dismissed,  without  evincing  any  signs  of  discom- 
posure, he  followed  the  turnkey  to  his  cell. 

One  deal  chair,  a  table,  and  a  miserable  bed,  were  all 
the  furniture  it  contained.  The  floor  was  paved  with  flags, 
and  th§  sides    of  the  apartment  daubed  with  discolored 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  301 

plaster,  part  of  which,  having  been  peeled  off  by  the  damp, 
exposed  to  view  large  spaces  of  the  naked  stones. 

Before  the  turnkey  withdrew  he  asked  Thaddeus 
whether  he  wanted  anything. 

"Only  a  pen,  ink,  and  paper." 

The  man  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  have  no  money,"  replied  Sobieski. 

"Then  you  get  nothing  here,"  answered  the  fellow, 
pulling  the  door  after  him. 

Thaddeus  threw  himself  on  the  chair,  and  in  the  bitter* 
ness  of  his  heart  exclaimed,  "Can  these  scoundrels  be 
Christians— can  they  be  men?"  He  cast  his  eyes  round 
him  with  the  wildness  of  despair.  "Mysterious  Heaven, 
can  it  be  possible  that  for  a  few  guineas  I  am  to  be  con- 
fined in  this  place  for  life?  In  these  narrow  bounds  am  I 
to  waste  my  youth,  my  existence?  Even  so;  I  cannot,  I 
will  not  degrade  the  spirit  of  Poland  by  imploring  assist- 
ance from  any  native  of  a  land  in  which  avarice  has  extin- 
guished the  feelings  of  humanity." 

By  the  next  morning,  the  first  paroxysm  of  indignation 
having  subsided,  Thaddeus  entertained  a  cooler  and  more 
reasonable  opinion  of  his  situation.  He  considered  that 
though  he  was  a  prisoner,  it  was  in  consequence  of  debts 
incurred  in  behalf  of  a  friend  whose  latter  hours  were 
rendered  less  wretched  by  such  means.  Notwithstanding 
"all  that  man  could  do  unto  him,"  he  had  brought  an 
appioving  conscience  to  lighten  the  gloom  of  his  dungeon; 
and  resuming  his  wonted  serenity,  he  continued  to  dis- 
tance the  impertinent  freedom  of  his  jailers  by  a  calm 
dignity,  which  extorted  civility  and  commanded  respect. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

AN    ENGLISH     PRISON. 

Several  days  elapsed  without  the  inhabitants  of  Harley 
Street  hearing  any  tidings  of  Thaddeus. 

Miss  Dundas  never  bestowed  a  thought  on  his  absence, 
except  when,  descanting  on  her  favorite  subject,  "the 
insolence  of  dependent  people,"  she  alleged  his  daring  to 
withdraw  himself  as  an  instance.     Miss  Eupheniiu  uttered 


302  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

all  her  complaints  to  Miss  Beaufort,  whom  she  accused  of 
not  being  satisfied  with  seducing  the  affections  of  Mr. 
Constantine,  but  she  must  also  spirit  him  away,  lest  by 
remorse  he  should  be  induced  to  renew  his  former  devo- 
tion at  the  shrine  of  her  tried  constancy. 

Mary  found  these  secret  conferences  very  frequent  and 
very  teasing.  She  believed  neither  the  count's  past  de- 
voirs to  Euphemia  nor  his  present  allegiance  to  herself. 
With  anxiety  she  watched  the  slow  decline  of  every  suc- 
ceeding day,  hoping  that  each  knock  at  the  door  would 
present  either  himself  or  an  apology  for  his  absence. 

In  vain  her  reason  urged  the  weakness  and  folly  of 
giving  way  to  the  influence  of  a  sentiment  as  absorbing 
as  it  was  unforeseen.  "It  is  not  his  personal  graces," 
murmured  she,  while  her  dewy  eyes  remained  riveted  on 
the  floor;  "they  have  not  accomplished  this  effect  on  me! 
No;  matchless  as  he  is,  though  his  countenance,  when 
illumined  by  the  splendors  of  his  mind,  expresses  consum- 
mate beauty,  yet  my  heart  tells  me  I  would  rather  see  all 
that  perfection  demolished  than  lose  one  beam  of  those 
bright  charities  which  first  attracted  my  esteem.  Yes, 
Constantine!"  cried  she,  rising  in  agitation,  "I  could 
adore  thy  virtues  were  they  even  in  the  bosom  of  deform- 
ity. It  is  these  that  I  love;  it  is  these  that  are  thyself! 
It  is  thy  noble,  godlike  soul  that  so  entirely  fills  my  heart, 
and  must  forever!" 

She  recalled  the  hours  which,  in  his  society,  had  glided 
so  swiftly  by  to  pass  in  review  before  her.  They  came, 
and  her  tears  redoubled.  Neither  his  words  nor  his  looka 
had  been  kinder  to  her  than  to  Miss  Egerton  or  to  Lady 
Sara  Eoss.  She  remembered  his  wild  action  in  the  park: 
it  had  transported  her  at  the  moment;  it  even  now  mado 
her  heart  throb;  but  she  ceased  to  believe  it  intended 
more  than  an  animated  expression  of  gratitude. 

An  adverse  apprehension  seemed  to  have  taken  posses- 
sion of  her  breast.  In  proportion  to  the  vehemence  of 
Miss  Euphemia's  reproaches,  (who  insisted  on  the  passion 
of  Thaddeus  for  Mary),  she  the  more  doubted  the  evidence 
of  those  delightful  emotions  which  had  rushed  over  her 
soul  when  she  found  her  hand  so  fervently  pressed  in  his. 

Euphemia  never  made  a  secret  of  the  tenderness  she 
professed;  and  Miss  Beaufort  having  been  taught  by  her 
own  heart  to  read  distinctly  the  eyes  of  Lady  Sara,  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W.  303 

result  of  her  observations  had  long  acted  as  a  caustic  on 
her  peace;  it  had  often  robbed  her  cheeks  of  their  bloom, 
and  compelled  her  to  number  the  lingering  minutes  of  the 
night  with  sighs.  But  her  deep  and  modest  flame  assumed 
no  violence;  removed  far  from  sight,  it  burned  the  more 
intensely. 

Instead  of  over-valuing  the  fine  person  of  Thaddeus,  the 
encomiums  which  it  extorted,  even  from  the  lips  of  preju- 
dice, occasioned  one  source  of  her  pain.  She  could  not 
bear  to  think  it  probable  that  the  man  whom  she  believed, 
and  knew,  to  be  gifted  with  every  attribute  of  goodness 
and  of  heroism  might  one  day  be  induced  to  sacrifice  the 
rich  treasure  of  his  mind  to  a  creature  who  would  select 
him  from  the  rest  merely  on  account  of  his  external 
superiority. 

Such  was  the  train  of  Mary's  meditations.  Covering 
her  face  with  her  handkerchief,  she  exclaimed  in  a  tender 
and  broken  voice,  "Ah,  why  did  I  leave  my  quiet  home 
to  expose  myself  to  the  vicissitudes  of  society?  Seques- 
tered from  the  world,  neither  its  pageants  nor  its  mortifi- 
cations could  have  reached  me  there.  I  have  seen  thee, 
matchless  Constantine!  Like  a  bright  planet,  thou  hast 
passed  before  me — like  a  being  of  a  superior  order!  And 
I  never,  never  can  debase  my  nature  to  change  that  love. 
Thy  image  shall  follow  me  into  solitude — shall  consecrate 
my  soul  to  the  practice  of  every  virtue!  I  will  emulate 
thy  excellence,  when,  perhaps,  thou  hast  forgotten  that  I 
exist." 

The  fit  of  despondence  which  threatened  to  succeed  this 
last  melancholy  reflection  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden 
entrance  of  Euphemia.  Miss  Beaufort  hastily  rose,  and 
drew  her  ringlets  over  her  eyes. 

"Oh,  Mary!"  cried  the  little  beauty,  holding  up  her 
pretty  hand,  "what  do  you  think  has  happened?" 

"What?"  demanded  she  in  alarm,  and  hastening  toward 
the  door;  "anything  to  my  aunt?" 

"No,  no,"  anwered  Euphemia,  catching  her  by  the 
arm,  "but  could  my  injured  heart  derive  satisfaction  from 
revenge,  I  should  now  be  happy.  Punishment  has  over- 
taken the  faithless  Constantine." 

Miss  Beaufort  looked  aghast,  and  grasping  the  back  of 
the  chair  to  prevent  her  from  falling,  breathlessly  inquired 
what  she  meant. 


304  TEADDEV8  OF  WARSAW. 

"Oh!  he  is  sent  to  prison,"  cried  Euphemia,  not  regard- 
ing the  real  agitation  of  her  auditor  (so  much  was  she 
occupied  in  appearing  overwhelmed  herself),  and  wringing 
her  hands,  she  continued:  "That  frightful  Mr.  Lascelles 
is  just  come  in  to  dinner.  You  cannot  think  with  what 
fiendish  glee  he  told  me  that  several  days  ago,  as  he  was 
driving  out  of  town,  he  saw  Mr.  Constantine,  with  two 
bailiffs  behind  him,  walking  down  Fleet  Street!  And, 
besides,  I  verily  believe  he  said  he  had  irons  on." 

"No,  no!"  ejaculated  Mary,  with  a  cry  of  terror,  at  this 
ad  libitum  of  Euphemia's;  "what  can  he  have  done?" 

"Bless  me!"  returned  Euphemia,  staring  at  her  pale 
face;  "why,  what  frightens  you  so?  Does  not  everybody 
run  in  debt,  without  minding  it?" 

Miss  Beaufort  shook  her  head,  and  looking  distractedly 
about,  put  her  hand  to  her  forehead.  Euphemia,  deter- 
mining not  to  be  outdone  in  "tender  woe,"  drew  forth 
her  handkerchief,  and  putting  it  to  her  eyes,  resumed  in 
a  piteous  tone: 

"I  am  sure  I  shall  hate  Lascelles  all  my  life,  because  he 
did  not  stop  the  men  and  inquire  what  jail  they  were 
taking  him  to.  You  know,  my  dear,  you  and  I  might 
have  visited  him.  It  would  have  been  delightful  to  have 
consoled  his  sad  hours!  AVe  might  have  planned  his 
escape." 

"In  irons!"  ejaculated  Mary,  raising  her  tearless  eyes 
to  heaven. 

Euphemia  colored  at  the  agonized  manner  in  which 
these  words  were  reiterated,  and  rather  confusedly  replied, 
"Not  absolutely  in  irons.  You  know  that  is  a  metaphor- 
ical term  for  captivity." 

"Then  he  was  not  in  irons?"  cried  Miss  Beaufort,  seiz- 
ing her  hand  eagerly:  "for  Heaven's  sake,  tell  me  he  was 
not  in  irons!" 

"Why,  then,"  returned  Euphemia,  half-angry  at  being 
obliged  to  contradict  herself,  "if  you  are  so  dull  of  taste, 
and  cannot  understand  poetical  language,  I  must  tell  you 
he  was  not." 

Mary  heard  no  further,  but  even  at  the  moment,  over- 
come by  a  revulsion  of  joy,  sank,  unable  to  speak,  into  the 
chair. 

Euphemia,  supposing  she  had  fainted,  flew  to  the  top  of 
the  stairs,  and  shrieking  violently,  stood  wringing  her 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  305 

bands,  until  Diana  and  Lady  Dundas,  followed  by  several 
gentlemen,  hastened  out  of  the  saloon  and  demanded  what 
was  the  matter.  As  Euphemia  pointed  to  Miss  Beaufort's 
dressing-room,  she  staggered,  and  sinking  into  the  arms  of 
Lord  Elesmere,  fell  into  the  most  outrageous  hysterics. 
The  marquis,  who  had  just  dropped  in  on  his  return  from 
St.  James',  was  so  afraid  of  the  agitated  lady's  tearing  his 
/point-lace  ruffles  that,  in  almost  as  trembling  a  state  as 
I  herself,  he  gladly  shuffled  her  into  the  hands  of  her  maid; 
and  scampering  downstairs,  as  if  all  Bedlam  were  at  his 
heels,  sprang  into  his  vis-a-vis,  and  drove  off  like  light- 
ning. 

When  Miss  Beaufort  recovered  her  scattered  senses,  and 
beheld  this  influx  of  persons  entering  her  room,  she  tried 
to  dispel  her  confusion,  and  rising  gently  from  her  seat, 
while  supporting  herself  on  the  arm  of  Miss  Dorothy's 
maid,  thanked  the  company  for  their  attention  and  with- 
drew into  her  chamber. 

Meanwhile,  Euphemia,  who  had  been  carried  down  into 
the  saloon,  thought  it  time  to  raise  her  lily  head  and  utter 
a  few  incoherent  words.  The  instant  they  were  breathed, 
Miss  Dundas  and  Mr.  Lascelles,  in  one  voice,  demanded 
what  was  the  matter. 

''Has  not  Mary  told  you?"  returned  her  sister,  lan- 
guidly opening  her  eyes. 

"No,"  answered  Lascelles,  rubbing  his  hands  with  de- 
lighted curiosity;  "come,  let  us  have  it." 

Euphemia,  pleased  at  this,  and  loving  mystery  with  all 
her  heart,  waved  her  hand  solemnly,  and  in  an  awful  tone 
replied,  "Then  it  passes  not  my  lips." 

"What,  Phemy!"  cried  he,  "you  want  us  to  believe 
you  have  seen  a  ghost?  But  you  forget,  they  don't  walk 
at  mid-day." 

"Believe  what  you  like,"  returned  she,  with  an  air  of 
consequential  contempt;  "I  am  satisfied  to  keep  the 
secret." 

Miss  Dundas  burst  into  a  provoking  laugh;  and  calling 
her  the  most  incorrigible  little  idiot  in  the  world,  encour- 
aged Lascelles  to  fool  her  to  the  top  of  his  bent.  Deter- 
mining to  gratify  his  spleen,  if  he  could  not  satisfy  his 
curiosity,  this  witless  coxcomb  continued  the  whole  day 
in  Harley  Street,  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  tormenting 
Euphemia.     From  the  dinner  hour  until  twelve  at  night. 


306  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

neither  his  drowsy  fancy  nor  wakeful  malice  could  find 
one  other  weapon  of  assault  than  the  stale  jokes  of  mys- 
terious chambers,  lovers  incognito,  or  the  silly  addition  of 
two  Cupid-struck  sweeps  popping  down  the  chimney  to 
pay  their  addresses  to  the  fair  friends.  Diana  talked  of 
Jupiter  with  his  thunder;  and  patting  her  sister  under 
the  chin,  added,  "I  cannot  doubt  that  Miss  Beaufort  is 
the  favored  Semele;  "but,  my  dear,  you  overacted  your 
character.  As  confidante,  a  few  tears  were  enough  when 
your  lady  fainted."  During  these  attacks,  Euphemia 
reclined  pompously  on  a  sofa,  and  not  deigning  a  reply, 
repelled  them  with  much  conceit  and  haughtiness. 

Miss  Beaufort  remained  above  an  hour  alone  in  her 
chamber  before  she  ventured  to  go  near  her  aunt.  Hurt 
to  the  soul  that  the  idle  folly  of  Euphemia  should  have 
aroused  a  terror  which  had  completely  unveiled  to  the  eyes 
of  that  inconsiderate  girl  the  empire  which  Thaddeus  held 
over  her  fate,  Mary,  overwhelmed  with  shame,  and  arraign- 
ing her  easy  credulity,  threw  herself  on  her  bed. 

Horror-struck  at  hearing  he  was  led  along  the  streets  in 
chains,  she  could  have  no  other  idea  but  that,  betrayed  into 
the  commission  of  some  dreadful  deed,  he  had  become 
amenable  to  the  laws,  and  might  suffer  an  ignominious 
death.  Those  thoughts  having  rushed  at  once  on  her 
heart,  deprived  her  of  self-command.  In  the  conviction 
of  some  fatal  rencounter,  she  felt  as  if  her  life,  her  honor, 
her  soul  were  annihilated.  And  when,  in  consequence  of 
her  agonies,  Euphemia  confessed  that  she  had  in  this  last 
matter  told  a  falsehood,  the  sudden  peace  of  her  soul  had 
for  an  instant  assumed  the  appearance  of  insensibility. 

Before  Miss  Beaufort  quitted  her  room,  various  plans 
were  suggested  by  her  anxiety  and  inexperience  how  to 
release  the  object  of  her  thoughts.  She  found  no  hesita- 
tion in  believing  him  poor,  and  perhaps  rendered  wretchedly 
so  by  the  burden  of  that  sick  friend,  who,  she  suspected, 
might  be  a  near  relation.  At  any  rate,  she  resolved  that 
another  sun  should  not  pass  over  her  head  and  shine  on 
him  in  a  prison.  Having  determined  to  pay  his  debts 
herself,  she  next  thought  of  how  she  might  manage  the 
affair  without  discovering  the  hand  whence  the  assistance 
came.  Had  her  aunt  been  well  enough  to  leave  the  house, 
she  would  not  have  scrupled  unfolding  to  her  the  recent 
calamity  of  Mr.  Constantine.     But  well  aware  that  Miss 


TBADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  30? 

Dorothy's  maidenly  nicety  would  be  outraged  at  a  young 
woman  appearing  the  sole  mover  in  such  an  affair,  she 
conceived  herself  obliged  to  withhold  her  confidence  at 
present,  and  to  decide  on  prosecuting  the  whole  transac- 
tion alone. 

In  consequence  of  these  meditations,  her  spirits  became 
less  discomposed.  Turning  toward  Miss  Dorothy  Somer- 
set's apartments,  she  found  the  good  lady  sipping  her 
coffee. 

"What  is  this  I  have  just  heard,  my  dear  Mary?  Will- 
liams  tells  me  you  have  been  ill!" 

Miss  Beaufort  returned  her  aunt's  gracious  inquiry  with 
an  affectionate  kiss;  and  informing  her  that  she  had  only 
been  alarmed  by  an  invention  of  Miss  Euphemia's,  begged 
that  the  subject  might  drop,  it  being  merely  one  out  of 
the  many  schemes  which  she  believed  that  young  lady  had 
devised  to  render  her  visit  to  London  as  little  pleasant  as 
possible. 

"Ah!"  replied  Miss  Dorothy,  "I  hope  I  shall  be  well 
enough  to  travel  in  the  course  of  a  few  days.  I  can  now 
walk  with  a  stick;  and  upon  my  word,  I  am  heartily  tired 
both  of  Lady  Dundas  and  her  daughters." 

Mary  expressed  similar  sentiments;  but  as  the  declara- 
tion passed  her  lips,  a  sigh  almost  buried  the  last  word. 
Go  when  she  would,  she  must  leave  Constantine  behind ; 
leave  him  without  an  expectation  of  beholding  him  more 
—without  a  hope  of  penetrating  the  thick  cloud  which 
involved  him,  and  with  which  he  had  ever  baffled  any 
attempt  she  had  heard  to  discover  his  birth  or  misfortunes. 
She  wept  over  this  refinement  of  delicacy,  and  "loved  him 
dearer  for  his  mystery." 

When  the  dawn  broke  next  morning,  it  shone  on  Miss 
Beaufort's  yet  unclosed  eyes.  Sleep  could  find  no  languid 
faculty  in  her  head  while  her  heart  was  agitated  with  plans 
for  the  relief  of  Thaddeus.  The  idea  of  visiting  the  coffee- 
house to  which  she  knew  the  Misses  Dundas  directed  their 
letters,  and  of  asking  questions  about  a  young  and  hand- 
some man,  made  her  timidity  shrink. 

"But,"  exclaimed  she,  "I  am  going  on  an  errand  which 
ought  not  to  spread  a  blush  on  the  cheek  of  prudery  itself. 
I  am  going  to  impart  alleviation  to  the  sufferings  of  the 
noblest  creature  that  ever  walked  the  earth!" 

Perhaps  there  are  few  persons  who,  being  auditors  of 


308  THADDEU8  OF  WASSA  W. 

this  speech,  would  have  decided  quite  so  candidly  on  the 
superlative  by  which  it  was  concluded,  Mary  herself  was 
not  wholly  divested  of  doubt  about  the  issue  of  her  con- 
duct; but  conscious  that  her  motive  was  pure,  she  de- 
scended to  the  breakfast-room  with  a  quieter  mind  than 
countenance. 

Never  before  having  had  occasion  to  throw  a  gloss  on 
her  actions,  she  scarcely  looked  up  during  breakfast. 
When  the  cloth  was  removed,  she  rose  suddenly  from  her 
chair,  and  turning  to  Miss  Dorothy,  who  sat  at  the  other 
end  of  the  parlor,  with  her  foot  on  a  stool,  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "Good-by,  aunt!  I  am  going  to  make  some  par- 
ticular calls;  but  I  shall  be  back  in  a  few  hours."  Luckily, 
no  one  observed  her  blushing  face  while  she  spoke,  nor  the 
manner  in  which  she  shook  hands  with  the  old  lady  and 
hurried  out  of  the  room. 

Breathless  with  confusion,  she  could  scarcely  stand 
when  she  arrived  in  her  own  chamber;  but  aware  that  no 
time  ought  to  be  lost,  she  tied  on  a  long,  light  silk  cloak, 
of  sober  gray,  over  her  white  morning-dress,  and  covering 
her  head  with  a  straw  summer  bonnet,  shaded  by  a  black 
lace  veil,  hesitated  a  moment  within  her  chamber  door — 
her  eyes  filling  with  tears,  drawn  from  her  heart  by  that 
pure  spirit  of  truth  which  had  ever  been  the  guardian  of 
her  conduct.  Looking  up  to  heaven,  she  sank  on  her 
knees,  and  exclaimed  with  impetuosity,  "Father  of  mercy! 
thou  only  knowest  my  heart!  Direct  me,  I  beseech  thee! 
Let  me  not  commit  anything  unworthy  of  myself  nor  of 
the  unhappy  Constantine — for  whom  I  would  sacrifice  my 
life,  but  not  my  duty  to  thee!" 

Reassured  by  the  confidence  which  this  simple  act  of 
devotion  inspired,  she  took  her  parasol  and  descended  the 
stairs.  The  porter  was  alone  in  the  hall.  She  inquired 
for  her  servant. 

"He  is  not  returned,  madam." 

Having  foreseen  the  necessity  of  getting  rid  of  all 
attendants,  she  had  purposely  sent  her  footman  on  an 
errand  as  far  as  Kensington. 

"It  is  of  no  consequence,"  returned  she  to  the  porter, 
who  was  just  going  to  propose  one  of  Lady  Dundas'  men. 
"I  cannot  meet  with  anything  disagreeable  at  this  time 
of  day,  so  I  shall  walk  alone." 

The  man  opened  the  door;  and  with  a  bounding  heart 


TBADPEUB  OF  WARSAW.  309 

Mary  hastened  down  the  street,  crossed  the  square,  and 
at  the  bottom  of  Orchard  Street  stepped  into  a  hackney- 
coach,  which  she  ordered  to  drive  to  Slaughter's  Coffee- 
house, St.  Martin's  Lane. 

She  drew  up  the  glasses  and  closed  her  eyes.  Various 
thoughts  agitated  her  anxious  mind  while  the  carriage 
rolled  along,  and  when  it  drew  up  at  the  coffee-house, 
she  involuntarily  retreated  into  the  corner.  The  coach 
door  was  opened. 

"Will  you  alight,  ma'am?" 

"No;  call  a  waiter." 

A  waiter  appeared;  and  Miss  Beaufort,  in  a  tolerably 
collected  voice,  inquired  whether  Mr.  Constantine  lived 
there. 

"No,  ma'am." 

A  cold  dew  stood  on  her  forehead;  but  taking  courage 
from  a  latent  and  last  hope,  she  added,  "I  know  he  has 
had  letters  directed  to  this  place." 

"Oh!  I  beg  your  pardon,  ma'am!"  returned  the  man, 
recollecting  himself;  "I  remember  a  person  of  that  name 
has  received  letters  from  hence,  but  they  were  always 
fetched  away  by  a  little  girl." 

"And  do  you  not  know  where  he  lives?" 

"No,  ma'am,"  answered  he;  "yet  someone  else  in  the 
house  may;  I  will  inquire." 

Miss  Beaufort  bowed  her  head  in  token  of  acknowledg- 
ment and  sat  shivering  with  suspense  until  he  returned, 
followed  by  another  man. 

"This  person,  ma'am,"  resumed  he,  "says  he  can  tell 
you." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you!"  cried  Mary;  then,  blushing 
at  her  eagerness,  she  stopped  and  drew  back  into  the 
carriage. 

"I  cannot  for  certain,"  said  the  man,  "but  I  know  the 
girl  very  well  by  sight  who  comes  for  the  letters;  and  I 
have  often  seen  her  standing  at  the  door  of  a  chandler's 
shop  a  good  way  down  the  lane.  I  think  it  is  No.  5  or  6. 
I  sent  a  person  there  who  came  after  the  same  gentleman 
about  a  fortnight  ago.     I  dare  say  he  lives  there." 

Miss  Beaufort's  expectations  sank  again,  when  she  found 
that  she  had  nothing  but  a  dare  say  to  depend  on;  and 
giving  half  a  crown  to  each  of  her  informers,  she  desired 
the  coachman  to  drive  as  they  would  direct  him. 


310  THADDBUS  OV  WARSAW. 

While  the  carriage  drove  down  the  lane,  with  a  heart 
full  of  fears  she  looked  from  side  to  side,  almost  believing 
she  should  know  by  intuition  the  house  which  had  con- 
tained Constantine.  When  the  man  checked  his  horses, 
and  her  eyes  fell  on  the  little  mean  dwelling  of  Mrs.  Rob- 
son,  she  smothered  a  deep  sigh. 

"Can  this  be  the  house  in  which  Constantine  has  lived? 
How  comfortless!  And  should  it  not,"  thought  she,  as 
the  man  got  off  the  box  to  inquire,  "whither  shall  I  go 
for  information?" 

The  appearance  of  Mrs.  Robson  and  her  immediate 
affirmative  to  the  question,  "Are  these  Mr.  Constantine's 
lodgings?"  at  once  dispelled  this  last  anxiety.  Encour- 
aged by  the  motherly  expression  of  the  good  woman's 
manner,  Mary  begged  leave  to  alight.  Mrs.  Robson 
readily  offered  her  arm,  and  with  many  apologies  for  the 
disordered  state  of  the  house,  led  her  upstairs  to  the  room 
which  had  been  the  count's  house. 

Mary  trembled;  but  seeing  that  everything  depended  on 
self-command,  with  apparent  tranquillity  she  received  the 
chair  that  was  presented  to  her,  and  turning  her  eyes  from 
the  books  and  drawings  which  told  her  so  truly  in  whose 
apartment  she  was,  she  desired  Mrs.  Robson,  who  con- 
tinued standing,  to  be  seated.  The  good  woman  obeyed. 
After  some  trepidation,  Mary  asked  where  Mr.  Constan- 
tine was.  Mrs.  Robson  colored,  and  looking  at  her  ques- 
tioner for  some  time,  as  if  doubting  what  to  say,  burst 
into  tears. 

Miss  Beaufort's  ready  eyes  were  much  inclined  to  flow 
in  concert;  but  subduing  the  strong  emotions  which 
shook  her,  she  added,  "I  do  not  come  hither  out  of  imper- 
tinent curiosity.  I  have  heard  of  the  misfortunes  of  Mr. 
Constantine.     I  am  well  known  to  his  friends." 

"Dear  lady!"  cried  the  good  woman,  grasping  at  any 
prospect  of  succor  to  her  benefactor,  "if  he  has  friends, 
whoever  they  are,  tell  them  he  is  the  noblest,  most 
humane  gentleman  in  the  world.  Tell  them  he  has  saved 
me  and  mine  from  the  deepest  want;  and  now  he  is  sent 
to  prison  because  he  cannot  pay  the  cruel  doctor  who 
attended  the  poor  dead  general." 

"What!  is  his  friend  dead?"  ejaculated  Mary,  unable 
to  restrain  the  tears  which  now  streamed  over  her  face. 

"Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Robson;  "poor  old  gentleman !  he 


TBA  D  D  K  US  OF  WA  RSA  W.  3  1 1 

is  dead,  sure  enough;  and,  Heaven  knows,  many  have 
been  the  dreary  hours  the  dear  young  man  has  watched  by 
his  pillow!     He  died  in  thr.t  room." 

Miss  Beaufort's  swimming  eyes  would  not  allow  her  to 
discern  objects  through  the  open  door  of  that  apartment 
within  which  the  heart  of  Thaddeus  had  undergone  such 
variety  of  misery.  Forming  an  irresistible  wish  to  know 
whether  the  deceased  were  any  relation  of  Constantine, 
she  paused  a  moment  to  compose  the  agitation  which 
might  betray  her,  and  then  asked  the  question. 

"I  thought,  ma'am,"  replied  Mrs.  Robson,  "you  said 
you  knew  his  friends?" 

"Only  his  English  ones,"  returned  Mary,  a  little  con- 
fused at  the  suspicion  this  answer  implied;  "I  imagined 
that  this  old  gentleman  might  have  been  his  father  or  an 
uncle,  or " 

"Oh,  no,"  interrupted  Mrs.  Eobson  sorrowfully;  "he 
has  neither  father,  mother,  nor  uncle  in  the  wide  world. 
He  once  told  me  they  were  all  dead,  and  that  he  saw  them 
die.  Alas!  sweet  soul!  What  a  power  of  griefs  he  must 
have  seen  in  his  young  life !  But  heaven  will  favor  him  at 
last;  for  though  he  is  in  misfortune  himself,  he  has  been 
a  blessing  to  the  widow  and  the  oprhan!" 

"Do  you  know  the  amount  of  his  debts?"  asked  Miss 
Beaufort. 

"Not  more  than  twenty  pounds,"  returned  Mrs.  Rob- 
eon,  "when  they  took  him  out  of  this  room,  a  week  ago, 
and  hurried  him  away  without  letting  me  know  a  word  of 
the  matter.  I  believe  to  this  hour  I  should  not  have 
known  where  he  was,  if  that  cruel  Mr.  Jackson  had  not 
come  to  demand  all  that  Mr.  Constantine  left  in  my  care. 
But  I  would  not  let  him  have  it.  I  told  him  if  my  lodger 
had  filled  my  house  with  bags  of  gold,  lie  should  not  touch 
a  shilling;  and  then  he  abused  me,  and  told  me  Mr.  Con- 
stantine was  in  Newgate." 

"In  Newgate!" 

"Yes,  madam.  I  immediately  ran  there,  and  found 
him  more  able  to  comfort  me  than  I  was  able  to  speak  to 
him." 

"Then  be  at  rest,  my  good  woman,"  returned  Miss  Beau- 
fort, rising  from  her  chair;  "when  you  next  hear  of  Mr. 
Constantine,  he  shall  be  at  liberty.  He  has  friends  who 
\rill  not  sleep  till  he  is  out  of  prison." 


3  ]  2  THADBEUS  OF  WA  R8A  IK 

"May  Heaven  bless  you  and  them,  dear  lady!"  cried 
Mrs.  Robson,  weeping  with  joy;  "for  they  will  relieve  the 
most  generous  heart  alive.  But  I  must  tell  you,"  added 
she  Avith  recollecting  energy,  "that  the  costs  of  the  busi- 
ness will  raise  it  to  some  pounds  more.  For  that  wicked 
Jackson,  getting  frightened  to  stand  alone  in  what  he 
had  done,  went  and  persuaded  poor  weak-minded  Mr. 
Watson,  the  undertaker,  to  put  in  a  detainer  against  Mr. 
Constantine  for  the  remainder  of  his  bill.  So  I  fear  it 
will  be  full  thirty  pounds  before  his  kind  friends  can; 
release  him." 

Mary  replied,  "Be  not  alarmed:  all  shall  be  done." 
While  she  spoke,  she  cast  a  wistful  look  on  the  drawings 
on  the  bureau;  then  withdrawing  her  eyes  with  a  deep 
sigh,  she  descended  the  stairs.  At  the  street  door  she 
took  Mrs.  Robson's  hand,  and  not  relinquishing  it  until 
she  was  seated  in  the  coach,  pressed  it  warmly,  and  leav- 
ing within  it  a  purse  of  twenty  guineas,  ordered  the  man 
to  return  whence  he  came. 

Now  that  the  temerity  of  going  herself  to  learn  the  par- 
ticulars of  Mr.  Constantine's  fate  had  been  achieved, 
determined  as  she  was  not  to  close  her  eyes  while  the  man 
whom  she  valued  above  her  life  remained  a  prisoner  and 
in  sorrow,  she  thought  it  best  to  consult  with  Miss  Dor- 
othy respecting  the  speediest  means  of  compassing  his 
emancipation. 

In  Oxford  Eoad  she  desired  the  coachman  to  proceed  to 
Harley  Street.  She  alighted  at  Lady  Dundas'  door,  paid 
him  his  fare,  and  stepped  into  the  hall  before  she  per- 
ceived that  a  traveling-carriage  belonging  to  her  guardian 
had  driven  away  to  afford  room  for  her  humble  equipage. 

"Is  Sir  Robert  Somerset  come  to  town?"  she  hastily 
inquired  of  the  porter. 

"No,  madam;  but  Mr.  Somerset  is  just  arrived." 

The  next  minute  Miss  Beaufort  was  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  clasped  within  the  arms  of  her  cousin. 

"Dear  Mary!" — "Dear  Pembroke!"  were  the  first 
words  which  passed  between  these  two  affectionate  rela- 
tives. 

Miss  Dorothy,  who  doted  on  her  nephew,  taking  his 
hand  as  he  seated  himself  between  her  and  his  cousin, 
said,  in  a  congratulatory  voice,  "Mary,  our  deal'  boy  has 
come  to  town  purposely  to  take  us  down." 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  313 

"Yes,  indeed,"  rejoined  he;  "my  father  is  moped  to 
death  for  want  of  you  both.  You  know  I  am  a  sad  rene- 
gade! Lord  Avon  and  Mr.  Loftus  have  been  gone  these 
ten  days  to  his  lordship's  aunt's  in  Bedfordshire;  and  Sir 
Robert  is  so  completely  weary  of  solitude  that  he  has 
commanded  me" — bowing  to  the  other  ladies — "to  run  off 
with  all  the  fair  inhabitants  of  this  house  sooner  than 
leave  you  behind." 

"I  shall  be  happy  at  another  opportunity  to  visit  Som- 
erset Hall,"  returned  Lady  Dundas;  "but  I  am  con- 
strained to  spend  this  summer  in  Dumbartonshire.  I 
have  not  yet  seen  the  estate  my  poor  dear  Sir  Hector 
bought  of  the  Duke  of  Dunbar." 

Pembroke  offered  no  attempt  to  shake  this  resolution. 
In  the  two  or  three  morning  calls  he  had  formerly  made 
with  Sir  Robert  Somerset  on  the  rich  widow,  he  saw  suffi- 
cient to  make  him  regard  her  arrogant  vulgarity  with 
disgust;  and  for  her  daughters,  they  were  of  too  artificial 
a  stamp  to  occupy  his  mind  any  longer  than  with  a  magic- 
lantern  impression  of  a  tall  woman  with  bold  eyes,  and 
the  prettiest  yet  most  affected  little  fairy  he  had  ever 
beheld. 

After  half  an  hour's  conversation  with  this  family  group, 
Miss  Beaufort  sank  into  abstraction.  During  the  first 
month  of  Mary's  acquaintance  with  Thaddeus,  she  did 
not  neglect  to  mention  in  her  correspondence  with  Pem- 
broke having  met  with  a  very  interesting  and  accomplished 
emigrant,  in  the  capacity  of  a  tutor  at  Lady  Dundas'. 
But  her  cousin,  in  his  replies,  beginning  to  banter  her  on. 
pity  being  allied  to  love,  she  had  gradually  dropped  all 
mention  of  Constantine's  name,  as  she  too  truly  found  by 
what  insensible  degrees  the  union  had  taken  place  within 
her  own  breast.  She  remembered  these  particulars,  while 
a  new  method  of  accomplishing  her  present  project  sug- 
gested itself;  and  determining  (however  extraordinary  her 
conduct  might  seem)  to  rest  on  the  rectitude  of  her 
motives,  a  man  being  the  most  proper  person  to  transact 
such  a  business  with  propriety,  she  resolved  to  engage 
Pembroke  for  her  agent,  without  troubling  Miss  Dorothy 
about  the  affair. 

So  deeply  was  she  absorbed   in  these   reflections  that 
Somerset,  observing  her  vacant  eye  fixed  on  the  opposite 
window,   took   her  hand   with   an   arch   smile,    and   ex 
claimed: 


314  TEADDBUS  OF  WAHSAW. 

"Mary!  What  is  the  matter?  I  hope,  Lady  Dimdas, 
you  have  not  suffered  any  one  to  run  away  with  her  heart? 
You  know  I  am  her  cousin,  and  it  is  my  inalienable  right." 

Lady  Dimdas  replied  that  young  ladies  best  know  their 
own  secrets. 

"That  may  be,  madam,"  rejoined  he;  "but  I  won't 
allow  Miss  Beaufort  to  know  anything  that  she  does  not 
transfer  to  me.     Is  not  that  true,  Mary?" 

"Yes,"  whispered  she,  coloring;  "and  the  sooner  you 
afford  me  an  opportunity  to  interest  you  in  one,  the  more 
I  shall  be  obliged  to  you." 

Pembroke  pressed  her  hand  in  token  of  assent;  and  a 
desultory  conversation  continuing  for  another  half-hour, 
Miss  Beaufort,  who  dreaded  the  wasting  one  minute  in  a 
day  so  momentous  to  her  peace,  sat  uneasily  until  her  aunt 
proposed  retiring  to  her  dressing-room  awhile,  and  re- 
quested Pembroke  to  assist  her  upstairs. 

When  he  returned  to  the  drawing-room,  to  his  extreme 
satisfaction  he  found  all  the  party  were  gone  to  prepare 
for  their  usual  drives,  excepting  Miss  Beaufort,  who  was 
standing  by  one  of  the  windows,  lost  in  thought.  He 
approached  her,  and  taking  her  hand: 

"Come,  my  dear  cousin,"  said  he,  "how  can  I  oblige 
you?" 

Mary  struggled  with  her  confusion.  Had  she  loved 
Thaddeus  less,  she  found  she  could  with  greater  ease  have 
related  the  interest  which  she  took  in  his  fate.  She  tried 
to  speak  distinctly,  and  she  accomplished  it,  although  her 
burning  cheek  and  downcast  look  told  to  the  fixed  eye  of 
Pembroke  what  she  vainly  attempted  to  conceal. 

"You  can,  indeed,  oblige  me!  You  must  remember  a 
Mr.  Constantine?  I  once  mentioned  him  to  you  in  my 
letters." 

"I  do,  Mary.     You  thought  him  amiable!" 

"He  was  the  intimate  friend  of  Lady  Tinemouth," 
returned  she,  striving  to  look  up;  but  the  piercing  ex- 
pression she  met  from  the  eyes  of  Somerset,  beating  hers 
down  again,  covered  her  face  and  neck  with  deeper 
blushes.     She  panted  for  breath. 

"Rely  on  me,"  said  Pembroke,  pitying  her  embarrass- 
ment, while  he  dreaded  that  her  gentle  heart  had  indeed 
become  the  victim  of  some  accomplished  and  insidious  for- 
eigner— "rely  on  me,  my  beloved  cousin:  consider  me  as 
ft  brother.     If  you  have  entangled  yourself " 


THADTJEUS  OF  WARS  A  W.  315 

Miss  Beaufort  guessed  what  he  would  say,  and  interrupt- 
ing him,  added,  with  a  more  assured  air,  "N  >,  Pembroke, 
I  have  no  entanglements.  I  am  going  to  ask  your  friendly 
assistance  in  behalf  of  a  brave  and  unfortunate  Polander." 
Pembroke  reddened  and  she  went  on.  "Mr.  Oonstantine 
is  a  gentleman.  Lady  Tinemouth  telb  mr  he  has  been  a 
soldier,  and  that  he  lost  all  his  possessions  in  the  ruin  of 
his  country.  Her  ladyship  introduced  him  here.  I  have 
seen  him  often,  and  I  know  him  to  be  worthy  the  esteem 
of  every  honorable  heart.  He  is  now  in  prison,  in  New- 
gate, for  a  debt  of  about  thirty  pounds,  and  I  ask  you  to 
go  and  release  him.  That  is  my  request — my  secret;  and 
I  confide  in  your  discretion  that  you  will  keep  it  even 
from  him." 

"Generous,  beloved  Mary!"  cried  Pembroke,  pressing 
her  hand;  "it  is  thus  you  always  act.  Possessed  of  all  the 
softness  of  thy  sex,  dearest  girl,"  added  he,  still  more 
affectionately,  "nature  has  not  alloyed  it  with  one  particle 
of  weakness!" 

Miss  Beaufort  smiled  and  sighed.  If  to  love  tenderly, 
to  be  devoted  life  and  soul  to  one  being,  whom  she  con- 
sidered as  the  most  perfect  work  of  creation,  be  weakness, 
Mary  was  the  weakest  of  the  weak;  and  with  a  languid 
despondence  at  her  heart,  she  was  opening  her  lips  to  give 
some  directions  to  her  cousin,  when  the  attention  of  both 
was  arrested  by  a  shrill  noise  of  speakers  talking  above 
stairs.  Before  the  cousins  had  time  to  make  an  observa- 
tion, the  disputants  descended  toward  the  drawing-room, 
and  bursting  open  the  door  with  a  violent  clamor,  pre- 
sented the  enraged  figure  of  Lady  Dundas  followed  by 
Diana,  who,  with  a  no  less  swollen  countenance,  was  scold- 
ing vociferously,  and  dragging  forward  the  weeping 
Euphemia. 

"Ladies!  ladies!"  exclaimed  Somerset,  amazed  at  so 
extraordinary  a  scene;  "what  has  happened?" 

Lady  Dundas  lifted  up  her  clinched  hand  in  a  passion. 

"A  jade — a  hussy!"  cried  her  vulgar  ladyship,  incapable 
of  articulating  more. 

Miss  Dundas,  still  grasping  the  hands  of  her  struggling 
sister,  broke  out  next,  and  turning  furiously  toward  Mary, 
exclaimed,  "You  see,  madam,  what  disgrace  your  ridicu- 
lous conduct  to  that  vagabond  foreigner  has  brought  on 
our  family!  This  bad  girl  has  followed  your  example, 
and  done  worse — she  has" fallen  in  loy§  with  him  I" 


316  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

Shocked,  and  trembling  at  so  rnde  an  accusation,  Miss 
Beaufort  was  unable  to  speak.  Lost  in  wonder,  and  in- 
censed at  his  cousin's  goodness  having  been  the  dupe  of 
imposition,  Pembroke  stood  silent,  while  Lady  Dundas 
took  up  the  subject. 

"Ay,"  cried  she,  shaking  her  daughter  by  the  shoulder, 
"you  little  minx!  if  your  sister  had  not  picked  up  these 
abominable  verses  you  chose  to  write  on  the  absence  of 
this  beggarly  fellow,  I  suppose  you  would  have  finished 
the  business  by  running  oft'  with  him !  But  you  shall  go 
down  to  Scotland,  and  be  locked  up  for  months.  I  won't 
have  Sir  Hector  Dundas'  family  disgraced  by  a  daughter 
of  mine." 

"For  pity's  sake,  Lady  Dundas,"  said  Pembroke,  step- 
ping between  her  shrewish  ladyship  and  the  trembling 
Euphemia,  "do  compose  yourself.  I  dare  say  your 
daughter  is  pardonable.  In  these  cases,  the  fault  in  general 
lies  with  our  sex.     We  are  the  deluders." 

Mary  was  obliged  to  reseat  herself;  and  in  pale  attention 
she  listened  for  the  reply  of  the  affrighted  Euphemia, 
who,  half-assured  that  her  whim  of  creating  a  mutual 
passion  in  the  breast  of  Thaddeus  was  no  longer  tenable, 
without  either  shame  or  remorse  she  exclaimed,  "Indeed, 
Mr.  Somerset,  you  are  right;  I  never  should  have  thought 
of  Mr.  Constantine  if  he  had  not  teased  me  every  time  he 
came  with  his  devoted  love." 

Miss  Beaufort  rose  hastily  from  her  chair.  Though 
Euphemia  colored  at  the  suddenness  of  this  motion,  and 
the  immediate  flash  she  met  from  her  eye,  she  went  on: 
"I  know  Miss  Beaufort  will  deny  it,  because  she  thinks 
he  is  in  love  with  her;  but  indeed,  indeed,  he  has  sworn 
a  thousand  times  on  his  knees  that  he  was  a  Eussian  noble- 
man in  disguise,  and  adored  me  above  every  one  else  in 
the  world." 

"Villain!"  cried  Pembroke,  inflamed  with  indignation 
at  his  double  conduct.  Afraid  to  read  in  the  expressive 
countenance  of  Mary  her  shame  and  horror  at  this  dis- 
covery, he  turned  his  eyes  on  her  with  trepidation;  when, 
to  his  surprise,  he  beheld  her  standing  perfectly  unmoved 
by  the  side  of  the  sofa  from  which  she  had  arisen.  She 
advanced  with  a  calm  step  toward  Euphemia,  and  taking 
hold  of  the  hand  which  concealed  her  face  while  uttering 
this  last  falsehood,  she  drew  it  away,  and  regarding  her 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  317 

with  a  serene  but  penetrating  look,  she  said:  "Euphemia! 
you  well  know  that  you  are  slandering  an  innocent  and 
unfortunate  man.  You  know  that  never  in  his  life  did 
he  give  you  the  slightest  reason  to  suppose  that  he  was 
attached  to  you;  for  myself,  I  can  also  clear  him  of  mak- 
ing professions  to  me.  Upon  the  honor  of  my  word,  I 
declare,"  added  she,  addressing  herself  to  the  whole  group, 
"that  he  never  breathed  a  sentence  to  me  beyond  mere 
respect.  By  this  last  deviation  of  Euphemia  from  truth, 
you  may  form  an  estimate  how  far  the  rest  she  has  alleged 
deserves  credit." 

The  young  lady  burst  into  a  vehement  passion  of  tears. 

"I  will  not  be  browbeaten  and  insulted.  Miss  Beaufort!" 
cried  she,  taking  refuge  in  noise,  since  right  had  deserted 
her.  "You  know  you  would  fight  his  battles  through 
thick  and  thin,  else  you  would  not  have  fallen  into  fits 
yesterday  when  I  told*you  he  was  sent  to  jail." 

This  last  assault  struck  Mary  motionless;  and  Lady 
Dundas,  lifting  up  her  hands,  exclaimed,  "Good  la!  keep 
me  from  the  forward  misses  of  these  times!  As  for  you, 
Miss  Euphemia,"  added  she,  seizing  her  daughter  by  the 
arm,  "you  shall  leave  town  to-morrow  morning.  I  will 
have  no  more  tutoring  and  falling  in  love  in  my  house; 
and  for  you,  Miss  Beaufort,"  turning  to  Mary  (who,  hav- 
ing recovered  herself,  stood  calmly  at  a  little  distance), 
"I  shall  take  care  to  warn  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset  to  keep 
an  eye  over  your  conduct." 

"Madam,"  replied  she  indignantly,  ''I  shall  never  do 
anything  which  can  dishonor  either  my  family  or  myself; 
and  of  that  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset  is  too  well  assured  to 
doubt  for  an  instant,  even  should  calumny  be  as  busy  with 
me  as  it  has  been  injurious  to  Mr.  Constantine." 

With  the  words  of  Mrs.  Robson  suddenly  reverberating 
on  her  heart,  "He  has  no  father,  no  mother,  no  kindred 
in  this  wide  world!"  she  walked  toward  the  door.  When 
she  passed  Mr.  Somerset,  who  stood  bewildered  and  frown- 
ing near  Miss  Dundas,  she  turned  her  eyes  on  her  cousin, 
full  of  the  effulgent  pity  in  her  soul,  and  said,  in  a  col- 
lected and  decisive  voice,  "Pembroke,  I  shall  leave  the 
room;  but,  remember,  I  do  not  release  you  from  your 
engagement." 

Staggered  by  the  open  firmness  of  her  manner,  he 
looked  after  her  as  she  withdrew,  and  was  aln.ost  inclined 


318  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

to  believe  that  she  possessed  the  right  side  of  the  argu« 
ment.  Malice  did  not  allow  him  to  think  so  long.  The 
moment  the  door  closed  on  her  both  the  sisters  fell  on 
him  pell-mell;  and  the  prejudiced  illiberality  of  the  one, 
supported  by  the  ready  falsehoods  of  the  other,  soon  dis- 
lodged all  favorable  impressions  from  the  mind  of  Somer- 
set, and  filled  him  anew  with  displeasure. 

In  the  midst  of  Diana's  third  harangue,  Lady  Dundas 
having  ordered  Euphemia  to  be  taken  to  her  chamber, 
Mr.  Somerset  was  left  alone,  more  incensed  than  ever 
against  the  object  of  their  invectives,  whom  he  now  con- 
sidered in  the  light  of  an  adventurer,  concealing  hia 
poverty,  and  perhaps  his  crimes,  beneath  a  garb  of  lies. 
That  such  a  character,  by  means  of  a  fine  person  and  a  few 
meretricious  talents,  could  work  himself  into  the  confi- 
dence of  Mary  Beaufort,  pierced  her  cousin  to  the  soul; 
and  as  he  mounted  the  stairs  with  an  intent  to  seek  her  in 
her  dressing-room,  he  almost  resolved  to  refuse  obeying 
her  commands. 

When  he  opened  the  room  door,  he  found  Miss  Beaufort 
and  his  aunt.  The  instant  he  appeared,  the  ever-benevo- 
lent face  of  Miss  Dorothy  contracted  into  a  frown. 

"Nephew,"  cried  she,  "I  shall  not  take  it  well  of  you 
if  you  give  stronger  credence  to  the  passionate  and  vulgar 
assertions  of  Lady  Dundas  and  her  daughters  than  you 
choose  to  bestow  on  the  tried  veracity  of  your  Cousin 
Mary." 

Pembroke  was  conscious  that  if  his  countenance  had 
been  a  faithful  transcript  of  his  mind,  Miss  Beaufort  did 
not  err  in  supposing  he  believed  the  foreigner  to  be  a 
villain.  Knowing  that  it  would  be  impossible  for  him  to 
relinquish  his  reason  into  what  he  now  denominated  the 
partial  hands  of  his  aunt  and  cousin,  he  persisted  in  his 
opinion  to  both  the  ladies,  that  their  unsuspicious  natures 
had  been  rendered  subservient  to  knavery  and  artifice. 

"I  would  not,  my  dear  madam,"  said  he,  addressing 
Miss  Dorothy,  "think  so  meanly  of  your  sex  as  to  imagine 
that  such  atrocity  can  exist  in  the  female  heart  as  could 
give  birth  to  ruinous  and  unprovoked  calumnies  against 
an  innocent  man.  I  cannot  suspect  the  Misses  Dundas  of 
such  needless  guilt,  particularly  poor  Euphemia,  whom  I 
truly  pity.  Lady  Dundas  forced  me  to  read  her  verses, 
and  they  were  tuu  full  of  love  and  regret  for  this  adverj- 


THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  310 

tnrer  to  come  from  the  same  breast  which  could  wantonly 
blacken  his  character.  Such  wicked  inconsistencies  in  so 
young  a  woman  are  not  half  so  probable  as  that  you,  my 
dear  aunt  and  cousin,  have  been  deceived." 

"Nephew,"  returned  the  old  lady,  "you  are  very  per- 
emptory. Methinks  a  little  more  lenity  of  opinion  would 
better  become  your  youth!  I  knew  nothing  of  this  un- 
happy young  man's  present  distress  until  Miss  Beaufort 
mentioned  it  to  me;  but  before  she  breathed  a  word  in 
his  favor,  I  had  conceived  a  very  high  respect  for  his 
merits.  From  the  first  hour  in  which  I  saw  him,  I  gathered 
by  his  deportment  that  he  must  be  a  gentleman,  besides  a 
previous  act  of  benevolent  bravery,  in  rescuing  at  the 
hazard  of  hia  own  life  two  poor  children  from  a  house  in 
flames — in  all  this  I  saw  he  must  have  been  born  far  above 
his  fortunes.  I  thought  so;  I  still  think  so;  and,  not- 
withstanding all  that  the  Dundases  may  choose  to  fabri- 
cate, I  am  determined  to  believe  the  assertions  of  an 
honest  countenance." 

Pembroke  smiled,  while  he  forced  his  aunt's  reluctant 
hand  into  his,  and  said,  "I  see,  my  dear  madam,  you  are 
bigoted  to  the  idol  of  your  own  fancy!  I  do  not  presume 
to  doubt  this  Mr.  Constantine's  lucky  exploits,  nor  his 
enchantments;  but  yon  must  pardon  me  if  I  keep  my 
senses  at  liberty.  I  shall  think  of  him  as  I  could  almost 
swear  he  deserves,  although  I  am  aware  that  I  hazard  your 
affection  by  my  firmness."  He  then  turned  to  Mary, 
who,  with  a  swelling  and  distressed  heart,  was  standing 
by  the  chimney.  "Forgive  me,  my  dearest  cousin,"  con- 
tinued he,  addressing  her  in  a  softened  voice,  "that  I  am 
forced  to  appear  harsh.  It  is  the  first  time  I  ever  dis- 
sented from  you;  it  is  the  first  time  I  ever  thought  you 
prejudiced!" 

Miss  Beaufort  drew  the  back  of  her  hand  over  her 
glistening  eyes.  All  the  tender  affections  of  Pembroke's 
bosom  smote  him  at  once,  and  throwing  his  arms  around 
his  cousin's  waist,  he  strained  her  to  his  breast,  and  added, 
"Ah!  why,  dear  girl,  must  I  love  you  better  for  this  giv- 
ing me  pain?  Every  way  my  darling  Mary  is  more  esti- 
mable. Even  now,  while  I  oppose  you,  lam  sure,  though 
your  goodness  is  abused,  it  was  cheated  into  error  by  the 
affectation  of  honorable  impulses  and  disasters!" 

AIU-i  IWnfovt    thought,    tluU   i(    l  Ur  j  >ni.1.M,,  .       ;     >.      >■    . 


320  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

and  decorum  dictated  silence  in  some  circumstances,  in 
others  a  prudence  of  a  higher  order  would  justify  her  in 
declaring  her  sentiments.  Accordingly  she  withdrew 
from  the  clasping  arms  of  Mr.  Somerset,  and  while  her 
beautiful  figure  seemed  to  dilate  into  more  than  its  usual 
dignity,  she  mildly  replied : 

''Think  what  you  please,  Pembroke;  I  shall  not  contend 
with  you.  Mr.  Constantine  is  of  a  nature  not  to  be  hid- 
den by  obscurity;  his  character  will  defend  itself;  and  all 
that  I  have  to  add  is  this,  I  do  not  release  you  from  your 
promise.  Could  a  woman  transact  the  affair  with  pro- 
priety, I  would  not  keep  you  to  so  disagreeable  an  office ; 
but  I  have  passed  my  word  to  myself  that  I  will  neither 
slumber  nor  sleep  till  he  is  oat  of  prison."  She  put  a 
pocketbook  into  Pembroke's  hand,  and  added,  "Take 
that,  my  dear  cousin;  and  without  suffering  a  syllable  to 
transpire  by  which  he  may  suspect  who  served  him,  accom- 
plish what  I  have  desired,  acting  by  the  memorandum 
yon  will  find  within." 

"I  will  obey  you,  Mary,"  returned  he;  "but  I  am  sorry 
that  such  rare  enthusiasm  was  not  awakened  by  a  worthier 
object.  When  you  see  me  again,  I  hope  I  shall  be  enabled 
to  say  that  your  ill-placed  generosity  is  satisfied." 

"Fie,  nephew,  fie!"  cried  Miss  Dorothy;  "I  could  not 
have  supposed  you  capable  of  conferring  a  favor  so  un- 
graciously." 

Pained  at  what  he  called  the  obstinate  infatuation  of 
Miss  Beaufort,  and  if  possible  more  chagrined  by  what  he 
considered  the  blind  and  absurd  encouragement  of  his 
aunt,  Mr.  Somerset  lost  the  whole  of  her  last  reprimand 
in  his  hurry  to  quit  the  loom. 

Disturbed,  displeased,  and  anxious,  he  stepped  into  a 
hackney-coach ;  and  ordering  it  to  drive  to  Newgate,  called 
on  the  way  at  Lincoln's  Inn,  to  take  up  a  confidential 
clerk  of  his  father's  haw  agent  there,  determining  by  his 
assistance  to  go  through  the  business  without  exposing 
himself  to  any  interview  with  a  man  whom  he  believed  to 
be  an  artful  and  unprincipled  villain. 


TEADDEU8  OF  WARSAW  321 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 


"  Calumny  is  the  pastime  of  little  minds,  and  the  venomed  shaft  of 

base  ones." 

The  first  week  of  the  count's  confinement  was  rendered 
in  some  degree  tolerable  by  the  daily  visits  of  Mrs.  Robson, 
who,  having  brought  his  drawing  materials,  enabled  him, 
through  the  means  of  the  always  punctual  print  seller,  to 
purchase  some  civility  from  the  brutal  and  hardened 
people  who  were  his  keepers.  After  the  good  woman  had 
performed  her  diurnal  kindness,  Thaddeus  did  not  suffer 
his  eyes  to  turn  one  moment  on  the  dismal  loneliness  of 
his  abject  prison,  but  took  up  his  pencil  to  accomplish  its 
daily  task,  and  when  done,  he  opened  some  one  of  his 
books,  which  had  also  been  brought  to  him,  and  so  sought 
to  beguile  his  almost  hopeless  hours — hopeless  with  regard 
to  any  human  hope  of  ever  repassing  those  incarcerating 
walls.  For  who  was  there  but  those  who  had  put  him 
there  who  could  now  know  even  of  his  existence? 

The  elasticity  and  pressing  enterprise  of  soul  inherent 
in  youth  renders  no  calamity  so  difficult  to  be  borne  as 
that  which  fetters  its  best  years  and  most  active  virtues 
under  the  lock  of  any  captivity.  Thaddeus  felt  this 
benumbing  effect  in  every  pulse  of  his  ardent  and  ener- 
getic heart.  He  retraced  all  that  he  had  been.  He 
looked  on  what  he  was.  Though  he  had  reaped  glory 
when  a  boy,  his  "noon  of  manhood,"  his  evening  sun,  was 
to  waste  its  light  and  set  in  an  English  prison. 

At  short  and  distant  intervals  such  melancholy  reveries 
gave  place  to  the  pitying  image  of  Mary  Beaufort.  It 
sometimes  visited  him  in  the  day — it  always  was  his  com- 
panion during  the  night.  He  courted  her  lovely  ideal  as 
a  spell  that  for  awhile  stole  him  from  painful  reflections. 
With  an  entranced  soul  he  recalled  every  lineament  of  her 
angel-like  face,  every  tender  sympathy  of  that  gentle  voice 
which  had  hurried  him  into  the  rashness  of  touching  her 
hand.  One  moment  he  pressed  her  gold  chain  closer  to 
his  heart,  almost  believing  what  Lady  Tinemouth  had 
insinuated;  the  next,  he  would  sigh  over  his  credulity, 
and  return  with  despondent  though  equally  intense  love 
to  the  contemplation  of  her  virtues,  independent  of  him- 
self. 


322  TEADDEU8  OF  WARSA  W. 

The  more  he  meditated  on  the  purity  of  her  manners, 
the  elevated  principles  to  which  he  could  trace  her  actions, 
and,  above  all,  on  the  benevolent  confidence  with  which 
she  had  ever  treated  him  (a  man  contemned  by  one  part 
of  her  acquaintance,  and  merely  received  on  trust  by  the 
remainder),  the  more  he  found  reasons  to  regard  that 
character  with  his  grateful  admiration.  When  he  drew  a 
comparison  between  Miss  Beaufort  and  most  women  of  the 
same  quality  whom  he  had  seen  in  England  and  in  other 
countries,  he  contemplated  with  delighted  wonder  that 
spotless  mind  which,  having  passed  through  the  various 
ordeals  annexed  to  wealth  and  fashion,  still  bore  itself 
uncontaminated.  She  was  beautiful,  and  she  did  not  re- 
gard it;  she  was  accomplished,  but  she  did  not  attempt  a 
display;  what  she  acquired  from  education,  the  graces  had 
so  incorporated  with  her  native  intelligence  that  the  per- 
fection of  her  character  seemed  to  have  been  stamped  at 
once  by  the  beneficent  hand  of  Providence. 

Never  were  her  numberless  attractions  so  fascinating  to 
Thaddeus  as  when  he  witnessed  the  generous  eagerness  with 
which,  forgetful  of  her  own  almost  unparalleled  talents, 
she  pointed  out  merit  and  dispensed  applause  to  the  deserv- 
ing. Miss  Beaufort's  nature  was  gentle  and  benevolent; 
but  it  was  likewise  distinguishing  and  animated.  While 
the  count  saw  that  the  urbanity  of  her  disposition  made 
her  politeness  universal,  he  perceived  that  neither  rank, 
riches,  nor  splendor,  when  alone,  could  extract  from  her 
bosom  one  spark  of  that  lambent  flame  which  streamed 
from  her  heart,  like  fire  to  the  sun,  toward  the  united 
glory  of  genius  and  virtue. 

He  dwelt  on  her  lovely,  unsophisticated  character  with 
an  enthusiasm  bordering  on  idolatry.  He  recollected  that 
she  had  been  educated  by  the  mother  of  Pembroke  Som- 
erset; and  turning  from  the  double  remembrance  with  a 
sigh  fraught  with  all  the  bitterness  and  sweetness  of  love, 
he  acknowledged  how  much  wisdom  (which  includes  vir- 
tue) gives  spirit  and  immortality  to  beauty.  "Yes,"  cried 
he,  "it  is  the  fragrance  of  the  flower,  which  lives  after  the 
bloom  is  withered." 

From  such  reflections  of  various  hues  Thaddeus  was  one 
evening  awakened  by  the  entrance  of  the  chief  jailer  into 
his  cell.  His  was  an  unusual  visit.  He  presented  a  sealed 
packet    t.n  lii«  prisoner,    saying   J'«   brought  it  fmm    » 


TIIADDEVS  OF  WAH8A  W.  323 

stranger,  who,  having  paid  the  debts  and  costs  for  which 
he  was  confined,  and  all  the  prison  dues,  had  immediately 
gone  away,  leaving  that  packet  to  be  instantly  delivered 
into  the  hand  of  Mr.  Constantine. 

While  Thaddeus,  scarcely  crediting  the  information, 
was  hastily  opening  the  packet,  hoping  it  might  throw 
some  light  on  his  benefactor,  the  jailer  civilly  withdrew. 
But  the  breaking  of  the  seal  discovered  a  blank  cover 
only,  save  these  words,  in  a  handwriting  unknown  to  him, 
"You  are  free!"  and  Bank  of  England  notes  to  the  amount 
of  fifty  pounds. 

Overwhelmed  with  surprise,  gratitude  to  Heaven,  and 
to  this  generous  unknown,  he  sank  down  into  his  solitary 
chair,  and  tried  to  conjecture  who  could  have  acted  the 
part  of  such  a  friend,  and  yet  be  so  careful  to  conceal  that 
act  of  friendship. 

He  had  seen  sufficient  proofs  of  a  heedless  want  of  benev- 
olence in  Miss  Euphemia  Dundas  to  lead  him  to  suppose 
that  she  could  not  be  so  munificent,  and  solicitous  of 
secrecy.  Besides,  how  could  she  have  learned  his  situa- 
tion? He  thought  it  was  impossible;  and  that  impossi- 
bility compelled  an  erratic  hope  of  his  present  liberty  hav- 
ing sprung  from  the  goodness  of  Miss  Beaufort  to  pass  by 
him  with  a  painful  swiftness. 

"Alas!"  cried  he,  starting  from  his  chair,  "it  is  the  in- 
defatigable spirit  of  Lady  Sara  Ross  that  I  recognize  in 
this  deed!  The  generous  but  unhappy  interest  which 
she  yet  takes  in  my  fate  has  discovered  my  last  misfor- 
tune, and  thus  she  seeks  to  relieve  me!" 

The  moment  he  conceived  this  idea,  he  believed  it;  and 
taking  up  a  pen,  with  a  grateful  though  disturbed  soul  he 
addressed  to  her  the  following  guarded  note: 

"To  the  Eight  Honorable  Lady  Sara  Ross. 

"An  unfortunate  exile,  who  is  already  overpowered  by 
a  sense  of  not  having  deserved  the  notice  which  Lady  Sara 
Ross  has  deigned  to  take  of  his  misfortunes,  was  this  day 
liberated  from  prison  in  a  manner  so  generous  and  deli- 
cate that  he  can  ascribe  the  act  to  no  other  than  the  noble 
heart  of  her  ladyship. 

"The  object  of  this  bounty,  bending  under  a  weight  of 
obligations  which  he  cannot  repay,  begs  permission  to  re- 
inclose  the  bills  which  Lady  Sara's  agent  transmitted  to 


324  THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W. 

him;  but  as  the  deed  which  procures  his  freedom  cannot 
be  recalled,  with  the  most  grateful  emotions  he  accepts 
that  new  instance  of  her  ladyship's  goodness." 

Thaddeus  was  on  the  point  of  asking  one  of  the  turn- 
keys to  send  him  some  trusty  person  to  take  this  letter  to 
St.  James'  Place,  when,  recollecting  the  impropriety  of 
making  any  inmate  of  Newgate  his  messenger  to  Lady 
Sara,  he  was  determining  to  remove  immediately  to  St. 
Martin's  Lane,  and  thence  dispatch  his  packet  to  his 
generous  friend,  when  Mrs.  Robson  herself  was  announced 
by  his  turnkey,  who,  as  customary,  disappeared  the 
moment  he  had  let  her  in.  She  hastened  forward  to  him 
with  an  animated  countenance,  and  exclaimed,  before  he 
had  time  to  speak,  "Dear  sir,  I  have  seen  a  dear,  sweet 
lady,  who  has  promised  me  not  to  sleep  till  you  are  out  of 
this  horrid  place!" 

The  suspicion  of  the  count,  that  his  benefactress  was 
indeed  Lady  Sara  Ross,  was  now  confirmed.  Seating  his 
warm-hearted  landlady  in  the  only  chair  his  apartment 
contained,  to  satisfy  her  humility,  he  took  his  station  on 
the  table,  and  then  said:  "The  lady  has  already  fulfilled 
her  engagement.  I  am  free,  and  I  only  wait  for  a  hack- 
ney-coach— which  I  shall  send  for  immediately — to  take 
me  back  to  your  kind  home." 

At  this  assurance  the  delighted  Mrs.  Robson,  crying 
and  laughing  by  turns,  did  not  cease  her  ejaculations  of 
joy  until  the  turnkey,  whom  he  had  recalled  to  give  the 
order  for  the  coach,  returned  to  say  that  it  was  in  readi- 
ness. 

He  took  up  his  late  prisoner's  small  portmanteau,  with 
the  drawing  materials,  etc.,  which  had  been  brought  to 
him  during  his  incarceration;  and  Thaddeus,  with  a  feel- 
ing as  if  a  band  of  iron  had  been  taken  from  his  soul, 
passed  through  the  door  of  his  cell;  and  when  he  reached 
the  greater  portal  of  Newgate,  where  the  coach  stood,  he 
gave  the  turnkey  a  liberal  douceur,  and  handing  Mrs. 
Robson  into  the  vehicle,  stepped  in  after  her,  full  of 
thankfulness  to  Heaven  for  again  being  permitted  to  taste 
the  wholesome  breeze  of  a  free  atmosphere. 

They  drove  quickly  on,  and  from  the  fullness  of  his 
thoughts  little  passed  between  the  count  and  his  happy 
companion  till  they  alighted  at  her  door  and  he  had  re- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  325 

entered  his  humble  apartment.  But  so  true  is  it  that 
ml  vintages  are  only  appreciated  by  comparison,  when  he 
looked  around,  he  considered  it  a  palace  of  luxury,  com- 
pared to  the  stifling  dungeon  he  had  left.  "Ah!"  cried 
Mrs.  Robson,  pointing  to  a  chair,  "there  is  the  seat  in 
which  that  dear  lady  sat — sweet  creature!  If  I  had 
known  I  durst  believe  all  she  promised,  I  would  have 
fallen  on  my  knees  and  kissed  her  feet  for  bringing  back 
your  dear  self!" 

"I  thank  you,  my  revered  friend!"  replied  Thaddeus, 
with  a  grateful  smile  and  a  tear  at  so  ardent  a  demonstra- 
tion of  her  maternal  affection.  "But  where  is  little 
Nanny,  that  I  may  shake  hands  with  her?"  It  being  yet 
early  in  the  evening,  he  was  also  anxious,  before  the  prob- 
able retiring  time  of  Lady  Sara  into  her  dressing-room  to 
prepare  for  dinner  should  elapse,  to  dispatch  his  letter  to 
her;  and  he  inquired  of  his  still  rejoicing  landlady 
"whether  she  could  find  him  a  safe  porter  to  take  a  small 
packet  of  importance  to  St.  James'  Place,  and  wait  for 
an  answer." 

The  good  woman  instantly  replied  that  "Mrs.  Watts, 
her  neighbor,  had  a  nephew  at  present  lodging  with  her, 
a  steady  man,  recently  made  one  of  the  grooms  in  the 
King's  Mews,  and  as  this  was  the  customary  hour  of  his 
return  from  the  stables,  she  was  sure  he  would  be  glad  to 
do  the  service."  While  the  count  was  sealing  his  letter, 
Mrs.  Robson  had  executed  her  commission,  and  reentered 
with  young  Watts.  He  respectfully  received  his  instruc- 
tions from  Thaddeus,  and  withdrew  to  perform  the  duty. 

Nanny  had  also  appeared,  and  welcomed  her  grand- 
mother's beloved  lodger  with  all  those  artless  and  ani- 
mated expressions  of  joy  which  are  inseparable  from  a 
good  and  unsophisticated  heart. 

The  distance  between  the  royal  precincts  of  St.  James' 
and  the  unostentatious  environs  of  St.  Martin's  Church 
being  very  short,  in  less  than  half  an  hour  the  count's 
messenger  returned  with  the  wished-for  reply.  It  was  with 
pain  that  he  opened  it,  for  he  saw,  by  the  state  of  the 
paper,  that  it  had  been  blotted  with  tears.  He  hurriedly 
took  out  the  reenclosed  bills,  with  a  flushed  cheek,  and 
read  as  follows: 

"I  cannot  be  mistaken  in  recognizing  the  proud  and 
high-minded  Constantine  in  the  lines  I  hold  in  my  hand. 


326  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Could  anything  have  imparted  to  me  more  comfort  than 
your  generous  belief  that  there  is  indeed  some  virtue  left 
in  my  wretched  and  repentant  heart,  it  would  have  arisen 
from  the  consciousness  of  having  been  the  happy  person 
avIio  succored  you  in  your  distress.  But  no:  that  enjoy- 
ment was  beyond  my  deserving.  The  bliss  of  being  the 
lightener  of  your  sorrows  was  reserved  by  Heaven  for  a 
less  criminal  creature.  I  did  not  even  know  that  you 
were  in  prison.  Since  our  dreadful  parting,  I  have  never 
dared  to  inquire  after  you;  and  much  as  it  might  console 
me  to  serve  one  so  truly  valued,  I  will  not  insult  your 
nice  honor  by  offering  any  further  instance  of  my  friend- 
ship than  what  will  evince  my  soul's  deep  gratitude  to 
your  prayers  and  my  acquiescence  with  the  commands  of 
duty. 

"My  husband  is  here,  without  perceiving  the  ravages 
which  misery  and  remorse  have  made  in  my  unhappy 
heart.  Time,  perhaps,  may  render  me  less  unworthy  of 
his  tenderness;  at  present,  I  detest  myself. 

"I  return  the  bills;  you  may  safely  use  them,  for  they 
never  were  mine.  S.  R." 

The  noble  heart  of  Thaddeus  bled  over  every  line  of 
this  letter.  He  saw  that  it  bore  the  stamp  of  truth 
which  did  not  leave  him  a  moment  in  doubt  that  he  owed 
his  release  to  some  other  hand.  While  he  folded  it  up, 
his  grateful  suspicions  next  lighted  on  Lady  Tinemouth. 
He  had  received  one  short  letter  from  her  since  her  de- 
parture, mentioning  Sophia's  stay  in  town  to  meet  Mr. 
Montresor,  and  Miss  Beaufort's  detention  there,  on 
account  of  Miss  Dorothy's  accident,  and  closing  with  the 
intelligence  of  her  own  arrival  at  the  Wolds.  He  was 
struck  with  the  idea  that,  as  he  had  delayed  answering 
this  letter  in  consequence  of  his  late  embarrassment,  she 
must  have  made  inquiries  after  him;  that  probably  Miss 
Egerton  was  the  lady  who  had  visited  Mrs.  Robson,  and 
finding  the  information  true  had  executed  the  countess' 
commission  to  obtain  his  release. 

According  to  these  suppositions,  he  questioned  his  land- 
lady about  the  appearance  of  the  lady  who  had  called. 
Mrs.  Robson  replied,  "She  was  of  an  elegant  height,  but 
so  wrapped  up,  I  could  neither  see  her  face  nor  her  figure, 
though  I  am  certain,  from  the  softness  of  her  voice,  she 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  327 

must  be  both  young  and  handsome.  Sweet  creature !  I 
am  sure  she  wept  two  or  three  times.  Besides,  she  is  the 
most  charitable  soul  alive,  next  to  you,  sir;  for  she  gave 
me  a  purse  with  twenty  guineas,  and  she  told  me  she 
knew  your  honor's  English  friends." 

This  narration  substantiating  his  hope  of  Lady  Tine- 
mouth's  being  his  benefactress,  that  the  kind  Sophia  was 
her  agent,  and  the  gentleman  who  defrayed  the  debt 
Mr.  Montresor,  he  felt  easier  under  an  obligation  which  a 
mysterious  liberation  would  have  doubled.  He  knew  the 
countess'  maternal  love  for  him.  To  reject  her  present 
benefaction,  in  any  part,  would  be  to  sacrifice  gratitude 
to  an  excessive  and  haughty  delicacy.  Convinced  that 
nothing  can  be  great  that  it  is  great  to  despise,  he  no 
longer  hesitated  to  accept  Lady  Tinemouth's  bounty,  but 
smothered  in  his  breast  the  embers  of  a  proud  and  repul- 
sive fire,  which,  having  burst  forth  in  the  first  hour  of  his 
misfortunes,  was  ever  ready  to  consume  any  attempt  that 
might  oppress  him  with  the  weight  of  obligation. 

Being  exhausted  by  the  events  of  the  day,  he  retired  at 
an  early  hour  to  his  grateful  devotions  and  to  his  pillow, 
where  he  found  that  repose  which  he  had  sought  in  vain 
within  the  gloomy  and  (he  supposed)  ever-sealed  walls  of 
his  prison. 

In  the  morning  he  was  awakened  by  the  light  footsteps 
of  his  pretty  waiting-maid  entering  the  front  room.  His 
chamber  door  being  open,  he  asked  her  what  the  hour 
was.  She  replied  nine  o'clock;  adding  that  she  had 
brought  a  letter,  which  one  of  the  waiters  from  Slaughter's 
Coffee-house  had  just  left,  with  information  that  he  did 
so  by  the  orders  of  a  footman  in  a  rich  livery. 

Thaddeus  desired  that  it  might  be  given  to  him.  The 
child  obeyed,  and  quitted  the  room.  He  saw  that  the 
superscription  was  in  Miss  Dundas'  hand;  and  opening  it 
with  pleasure — because  everything  interested  him  which 
came  from  the  house  which  contained  Mary  Beaufort — to 
his  amazement  and  consternation  he  read  the  following 
accusations: 

"To  Mr.  Constantine. 

"Sir:  By  a  miraculous  circumstance  yesterday  morning, 
your  deep  and  daring  plan  of  villainy  has  been  discovered 
to  Lady  I) and  myself.     The  deluded  victim,  whom 


328  THADDEUS  OF  WAKSAW. 

your  arts  and  falsehoods  would  have  seduced  to  dishonor 
her  family  by  connecting  herself  with  a  vagabond,  has  at 
length  seen  through  her  error,  and  now  detests  you  as 
much  as  ever  your  insufferable  presumption  could  have 
hoped  she  would  distinguish  you  with  her  regard.  Thanks 
be  to  Heaven!  you  are  completely  exposed.  This  young 
woman  of  fashion  (whose  name  I  will  not  trust  in  the 
same  page  with  yours)  has  made  a  full  confession  of  your 
vile  seductions,  of  her  own  reprehensible  weakness,  in 
ever  having  deigned  to  listen  to  so  low  a  creature.  She 
desires  me  to  assure  you  that  she  hates  you,  and  commands 
you  never  again  to  attempt  the  insolence  of  appearing  in 
her  sight.     Indeed  this  is  the  language  of  every  soul  in 

this  house,  Lady  D ,  Miss  D ,  S ,  Miss  B , 

besides  that  of  D D-^ . 

"Harley  Street." 

Thaddeus  read  this  ridiculous  letter  twice  before  he 
could  perfectly  comprehend  its  meaning.  In  a  paroxysm 
of  indignation  at  the  base  subterfuge  under  which  he  did 
not  doubt  Euphemia  had  screened  some  accidental  dis- 
covery of  her  absurd  passion,  he  hastily  threw  on  his 
clothes,  and  determined,  though  in  defiance  of  Miss  Dun- 
das'  mandates,  to  fly  to  Harley  Street,  and  clear  himself 
in  the  eyes  of  Miss  Beaufort  and  her  venerable  aunt. 

Having  flown  rather  than  walked,  he  arrived  in  sight  of 
Lady  Dundas'  house  just  as  a  coachful  of  her  ladyship's 
maids  and  packages  drove  from  the  door.  Hurrying  up 
the  step,  he  asked  the  porter  if  Miss  Dorothy  Somerset 
were  at  home. 

"No,"  replied  the  man;  "she  and  Miss  Beaufort,  with 
Miss  Dundas  and  Mr.  Somerset,  went  out  of  town  this 
morning  by  eight  o'clock,  and  my  lady  and  Miss  Euphe- 
mia, about  an  hour  ago,  set  off  for  Scotland,  where  they 
mean  to  stay  all  the  summer." 

At  this  informaticu,  which  seemed  to  be  the  sealing  of 
his  condemnation  with  Mary,  the  heart  of  Thaddeus  was 
pierced  to  the  core.  Unacquainted  until  this  moment  with 
the  torments  attending  the  knowledge  of  being  calum- 
niated, he  could  scarcely  subdue  the  tempest  in  his  breast, 
when  forced  to  receive  the  conviction  that  the  woman  he 
loved  above  all  the  world  now  regarded  him  as  not  merely 
a  villain,  but  the  meanest  of  villains. 


1HADDEUB  OF  WARS  A  W.  329 

He  returned  home  indignant  and  agitated.  The  proba- 
bility that  Pembroke  Somerset  had  listened  to  the  false- 
hood of  Euphemia,  without  suggesting  one  word  in  de- 
fense of  him  who  once  was  his  friend,  inflicted  a  pang 
more  deadly  than  the  rest.  Shutting  himself  within  his 
apartment,  tossed  and  tortured  in  soul,  he  traversed  the 
room.  First  one  idea  occurred  and  then  another,  until 
he  resolved  to  seek  redress  from  the  advice  of  Lady  Tine- 
mouth.  With  this  determination  he  descended  the  stairs, 
and  telling  Mrs.  Robson  he  should  leave  London  the  ensu- 
ing day  for  Lincolnshire,'  begged  her  not  to  be  uneasy  on 
his  account,  as  he  went  on  business,  and  would  return  in 
a  few  days.  The  good  woman  almost  wept  at  this  intelli- 
gence, and  prayed  Heaven  to  guard  him  wherever  he 
went. 

Next  morning,  having  risen  at  an  early  hour,  he  was 
collecting  his  few  articles  of  wardrobe  to  put  into  his  cloak- 
bag  for  his  meditated  short  visit,  when  going  to  open  one 
of  the  top  drawers  in  his  chamber,  he  found  it  sealed,  and 
observed  on  the  black  wax  the  impress  of  an  eagle.  It 
was  a  large  seal.  Hardly  crediting  his  eyes,  it  appeared  to 
be  the  armorial  eagle  of  Polaud,  surmounted  by  its  regal 
crown.  Nay,  it  seemed  an  impression  of  the  very  seal 
which  had  belonged  to  his  royal  ancestor,  John  Sobieski, 
and  which  was  appended  to  the  watch  of  his  grandfather 
when  he  was  robbed  of  it  on  his  first  arrival  in  England. 

Thaddeus,  in  a  wondering  surprise,  immediately  rang 
the  bell,  and  Mrs.  Eobson  herself  came  upstairs.  He 
hurriedly  but  gently  inquired  "how  the  drawer  became 
not  only  locked  as  he  had  left  it,  but  fastened  with  such  a 
seal." 

Mrs.  Robson  did  not  perceive  his  agitation,  and  simply 
replied,  "While  his  honor  was  in  that  horrid  place,  and 
after  the  attempt  of  Mr.  Jackson  to  get  possession  of  his 
property,  she  had  considered  it  right  to  so  secure  the 
drawer,  which  she  believed  contained  his  most  valuable 
pictures,  and  the  like.  So,  having  no  impression  of  her 
own  big  enough,  she  went  and  bought  a  bunch  of  tarnished 
copper  seals  she  had  seen  hanging  in  the  window  of  a 
huckster's  shop  at  the  corner  of  an  alley  hard  by,  one  of 
them  appearing  about  the  size  she  wanted.  The  woman 
of  the  shop  told  her  she  had  found  them  at  the  bottom  of 
a  tub  of  old  iron  sold  to  her  awhile  ago  by  a  dustman; 


330  TBADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

and  as,  to  be  sure,  they  were  damaged  and  very  dirty,  she 
would  not  ask  more  than  a  couple  of  shillings  for  the  lot, 
and  would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  them!" 

"So,  sir,"  continued  Mrs.  Kobson,  with  a  pleased  look, 
"I  gave  the  money,  and  hastened  home  as  fast  as  I  could, 
and  with  Mrs.  Watts  by  my  side  to  witness  it,  yon  see  I 
made  all  safe  which  I  thought  you  most  cared  for." 

"You  are  very  thoughtful  for  me,  kindest  of  women!" 
returned  Thaddeus,  with  grateful  energy;  "but  let  me 
see  the  seals — for  it  is  possible  I  may  recognize  in  the  one 
of  this  impression,  indeed,  a  relic  precious  to  my  .memory !" 

Mrs.  Robson  put  her  hand  into  her  pocket,  and  instantly 
gave  them  to  him.  There  were  three,  one  large,  two 
small,  and  strung  together  by  a  leather  thong.  The 
former  massive  gold  chain  was  no  longer  their  link,  and 
the  rust  from  the  iron  had  clouded  the  setting;  but  a 
glance  told  Sobieski  they  were  his.  He  pressed  them  to 
his  heart,  while  with  glistening  eyes  he  turned  away  to 
conceal  his  emotion.  His  sensible  landlady  comprehended 
there  was  something  more  than  she  knew  of  in  the  recog- 
nition (he  never  having  told  her  of  the  loss  of  his  watch, 
when  he  had  saved  her  little  grandchild  from  the  plung- 
ing horses  in  the  King's  Mews),  and  from  her  native -deli- 
cacy not  to  intrude  on  his  feelings,  she  gently  withdrew 
unobserved,  and  left  him  alone. 

About  half  an  hour  afterward,  when  she  saw  her  be- 
loved lodger  depart  in  the  stage-coach  that  called  to  take 
him  up,  her  eyes  followed  the  wheels  down  the  lane  with 
renewed  blessings. 

His  long  journey  passed  not  more  in  melancholy  reveries 
against  the  disappointing  characters  he  had  met  in  re- 
vered England  than  in  affectionate  anticipations  of  the 
moment  in  which  he  should  pour  out  his  gratitude  to  the 
maternal  tenderness  of  Lady  Tinemouth,  and  learn  from 
her  ingenuous  lips  how  to  efface  from  the  minds  of  Miss 
Dorothy  Somerset  and  her  angel-like  niece  the  representa- 
tions, so  dishonoring,  torturing,  and  false,  which  had 
been  heaped  upon  him  by  the  calumnies  of  the  family  in 
Harley  Street. 


TRADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  331 

CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

ZEAL   IS    POWER. 

The  porter  at  Lady  Dundas'  had  been  strictly  correct 
in  his  account  respecting  the  destination  of  the  dispersed 
members  of  her  ladyship's  household. 

While  Pembroke  Somerset  was  sullenly  executing  his 
forced  act  of  benevolence  at  Newgate,  Miss  Dundas  sud- 
denly took  into  her  scheming  head  to  compare  the  merits 
of  Somerset's  rich  expectancy  with  the  penniless  certainty 
of  Lascelles.  She  considered  the  substantial  advantages 
which  the  wife  of  a  wealthy  baronet  would  hold  over  the 
thriftless  cara  sposa  of  a  man  owning  no  other  estate  than 
a  reflected  luster  from  the  coronet  of  an  elder  brother. 
Besides,  Pembroke  was  very  handsome — Lascelles  only 
tolerably  so;  indeed,  some  women  had  presumed  to  call 
him  "very  plain."  But  they  were  "stupid  persons,"  who, 
not  believing  the  metempryehosis  doctrine  of  the  tailor 
and  his  decorating  adjuncts,  could  not  comprehend  that 
although  a  mere  human  creature  can  have  no  such  prop- 
erty, a  man  of  fashion  may  possess  an  elixir  vita  which 
makes  age  youth,  deformity  beauty,  and  even  transforms 
vice  into  virtue. 

In  spite  of  recollection,  which  reminded  Diana  how 
often  she  had  contended  that  all  Mr.  Lascelles'  teeth  were 
his  own;  that  his  nose  was  not  a  bit  too  long,  being  a  fac- 
simile of  the  feature  which  reared  its  sublime  curve  over 
the  capricious  mouth  of  his  noble  brother,  the  Earl  of 
Castle  Conway — notwithstanding  all  this,  the  Pythagorean 
pretensions  of  fashion  began  to  lose  their  ascendency ;  and 
in  the  recesses  of  her  mina,  when  Miss  Dundas  compared 
the  light  elegance  of  Pembroke's  figure  with  the  heavy 
limbs  of  her  present  lover,  Pembroke's  dark  and  ever- 
animated  eyes  with  the  gooseberry  orbs  of  Lascelles,  she 
dropped  the  parallel,  and  resolving  to  captivate  the  heir 
of  Somerset  Castle,  admitted  no  remorse  at  jilting  the 
brother  of  Cast'e  Conway. 

To  this  end,  before  Pembroke's  return  from  Newgate, 
Diana  had  told  her  mother  of  her  intention  to  accompany 
Miss  Dorothy  to  the  baronet's,  where  she  would  remain 
until  hi>r  ladyship  should  think  Euph«mm  might,  be  trusted, 


332  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW, 

to  rejoin  her  in  town.  Neither  Miss  Dorothy  nor  Miss 
Beaufort  liked  this  arrangement;  and  next  morning,  with 
an  aching  heart,  the  latter  prepared  to  take  her  seat  in 
the  traveling  equipage  which  was  to  convey  them  all  into 
Leicestershire. 

After  supper,  Pembroke  coldly  informed  his  cousin  of 
the  success  of  her  commands — that  Mr.  Constantine  was 
at  liberty.  This  assurance,  though  imparted  with  so  un- 
gracious an  air,  laid  her  head  with  less  distraction  on  her 
pillow,  and  as  she  stepped  into  Sir  Eobert's  carriage  next 
day,  enabled  her  with  more  ease  to  deck  her  lips  with 
smiles.  .She  felt  that  the  penetrating  eyes  of  Mr.  Somer- 
set were  never  withdrawn  from  her  face.  Offended  with 
his  perverseness,  and  their  scrutiny,  she  tried  to  baffle 
their  inspection.  She  attempted  gayety,  when  she  gladly 
would  have  wept.  But  when  the  coach  mounted  the  top 
of  Ilighgate  Hill,  and  she  had  a  last  view  of  that  city 
which  contained  the  being  whose  happiness  was  the  sole 
object  of  her  thoughts  and  prayers,  she  leaned  out  of  the 
window  to  hide  a  tear  she  could  not  repress;  feeling  that 
another  and  another  would  start,  she  complained  of  the 
dust,  and  pulling  her  veil  over  her  eyes,  drew  back  into 
the  corner  of  the  carriage.  The  trembling  of  her  voice 
and  hands  during  the  performance  of  this  little  artifice 
too  well  explained  to  Pembroke  what  was  passing  in  her 
mind.  At  once  dispelling  the  gloom  which  shrouded  his 
own  countenance,  he  turned  toward  her  with  compas- 
sionate tenderness  in  his  words  and  looks;  he  called  her 
attention  by  degrees  to  the  happy  domestic  scene  she  was 
to  meet  at  the  castle;  and  thus  gradually  softening  her 
displeasure  into  the  easy  conversation  of  reciprocal  affec- 
tion, he  rendered  the  remainder  of  their  long  journey 
less  irksome. 

When,  at  the  end  of  the  second  day,  Miss  Beaufort 
found  herself  in  the  old  avenue  leading  to  the  base  of  the 
hill  which  sustains  the  revered  walls  of  Somerset's  castel- 
lated towers,  a  mingled  emotion  took  possession  of  her 
breast;  and  when  the  carriage  arrived  at  the  foot  of  the 
highest  terrace,  she  sprang  impatiently  out  of  it,  and 
hastening  up  the  stone  stairs  into  the  front  hall,  met  her 
uncle  at  the  door  of  the  breakfast-parlor,  where  he  held 
out  his  arms  to  receive  her. 

"My   Mary!     My  darling V    cried   he,  embracing  her 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  333 

now  wet  cheek,  and  straining  her  throbbing  bosom  to  his 
own.  "Why,  my  dear  love,"  added  he,  almost  carrying 
her  into  the  room,  "I  am  afraid  this  visit  to  town  has  in- 
jured your  nerves!     Whence  arises  this  agitation?" 

She  knew  it  had  injured  her  peace;  and  now  that  the 
flood-gates  of  her  long-repelled  tears  were  opened,  it  was 
beyond  her  power,  or  the  soothings  of  her  affectionate 
uncle,  to  stay  them.  A  moment  afterward  her  cousin 
entered  the  room,  followed  by  Miss  Dorothy  and  Miss 
Dundas.  Miss  Beaufort  hastily  rose,  to  conceal  what  she 
could  not  check.  Kissing  Sir  Robert's  hand,  she  asked 
permission  to  retire,  under  the  pretense  of  regaining  those 
spirits  which  had  been  dissipated  by  the  fatigues  of  her 
journey. 

In  her  own  chamber  she  did  indeed  struggle  to  recover 
herself.  She  shuddered  at  the  impetuosity  of  her  emo- 
tions when  once  abandoned  of  their  reins,  and  resolved 
from  this  hour  to  hold  a  stricter  control  over  such  be- 
trayals of  her  ill-fated,  devoted  heart. 

She  sat  in  the  window  of  her  apartment,  and  looking 
down  the  extensive  vale  of  Somerset,  watched  the  romantic 
meanderings  of  its  shadowed  river,  winding  its  course 
through  the  domains  of  the  castle  and  nourishing  the 
roots  of  those  immense  oaks  which  for  many  a  century  had 
waved  their  branches  over  its  stream.  She  reflected  on 
the  revolution  which  had  taken  place  in  herself  since 
she  walked  on  its  banks  the  evening  that  preceded  her 
visit  to  London.  Then  she  was  free  as  the  air,  gay  as  the 
lark;  each  object  was  bright  and  lovely  in  her  eyes:  hope 
seemed  to  woo  her  from  every  green  slope,  every  remote 
dingle.  All  nature  breathed  of  ioy,  because  her  own 
breast  was  the  abode  of  gladness.  Now,  all  continued  the 
same,  but  she  was  changed.  Surrounded  by  beauty,  she 
acknowledged  its  presence;  the  sweetness  of  the  flowers 
bathed  her  senses  in  fragrance;  the  setting  sun,  gilding 
the  height,  shed  a  yellow  glory  over  the  distant  hills;  the 
birds  were  hailing  the  falling  dew  which  spangled  every 
leaf.  She  gazed  around  and  sighed  heavily,  when  she 
said  to  herself,  "Even  in  this  paradise  I  shall  be  wretched. 
Alas!  my  heart  is  far  away!  My  soul  lingers  about  one  I 
may  never  more  behold — about  one  who  may  soon  cease 
to  remember  that  such  a  being  as  Mary  Beaufort  is  in 
existence;.     He  will  leave  England!"    cried  she,  raising 


334  THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW. 

her  hands  and  eyes  to  the  glowing  heavens.  "He  will 
live,  he  will  die,  far,  far  from  me!  In  a  distant  land  he 
will  wed  another  while  I  shall  know  no  wish  that  strays 
from  him." 

While  she  indulged  in  these  soliloquies,  she  forgot  both 
Sir  Eobert  and  her  resolution,  until  he  sent  her  maid  to 
beg,  if  she  were  better,  that  she  would  come  down  and 
make  tea  for  him.  At  this  summons  she  dried  her  eyes, 
and  with  assumed  serenity  descended  to  the  saloon,  where 
the  family  were  assembled.  The  baronet  having  greeted 
Miss  Duudas  with  an  hospitable  welcome,  seated  himself 
between  his  sister  and  his  son ;  and  while  he  received  his 
favorite  beverage  from  the  hands  of  his  beloved  niece,  he 
found  that  comfort  once  more  reentered  his  bosom. 

Sir  Eobert  Somerset  was  a  man  whose  appearance  alone 
attracted  respect.  His  person  bore  the  stamp  of  dignity, 
and  his  manners,  which  possessed  the  exquisite  polish  of 
travel  and  of  society  in  its  most  refined  courts,  secured 
him  universal  esteem.  Though  little  beyond  fifty,  various 
perplexing  situations  having  distressed  his  youth,  had  not 
only  rendered  his  hair  prematurely  gray,  but  by  clouding 
his  once  brilliant  eyes  with  thoughtfulness,  marked  his 
aspect  with  premature  old  age  and  melancholy.  The 
baronet's  entrance  into  town  life  had  been  celebrated  for 
his  graceful  vivacity;  he  was  the  animating  spirit  of  every 
party,  till  an  inexplicable  metamorphosis  suddenly  took 
place.  Soon  after  his  return  from  abroad,  he  had  married 
Miss  Beaufort  (a  woman  whom  he  loved  to  adoration), 
when,  strange  to  say,  excess  of  happiness  seemed  to  change 
his  nature  and  give  his  character  a  deep  tinge  of  sadness. 
After  his  wife's  death,  the  alteration  in  his  mind  produced 
still  more  extraordinary  effects  and  showed  itself  more 
than  once  in  all  the  terrors  of  threatened  mental  derange- 
ment. 

His  latest  attack  of  the  kind  assailed  him  during  the 
last  winter,  under  the  appearance  of  a  swoon,  while  he 
sat  at  breakfast  reading  the  newspaper.  He  was  carried 
to  bed  and  awoke  in  a  delirium  which  menaced  either 
immediate  death  or  the  total  extinction  of  his  intellects. 
However,  neither  of  these  dreads  being  confirmed,  in  the 
course  of  several  weeks,  to  the  wonder  of  everybody,  he 
recovered  much  of  his  health  and  his  sound  mind.  Not- 
withstanding this  happy  ©vent,  the  circumstances  of  his 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  335 

danger  so  deeply  affected  his  family  that  he  ceased  not  to 
be  an  object  of  the  most  anxious  attention.  Indeed,  so- 
licitude did  not  terminate  with  them :  the  munificence  of 
his  disposition  having  spread  itself  through  every  county 
in  which  he  owned  a  rood  of  land,  as  many  prayers  ascended 
for  the  repose  of  his  spirit  as  ever  petitioned  Heaven  from 
the  mouths  of  "monkish  beadsmen"  in  favor  of  power 
and  virtue. 

Since  the  demise  of  Lady  Somerset,  this  still-admired 
man  drew  all  his  earthly  comfort  from  the  amiable  qualities 
of  his  son  Pembroke.  Sometimes  in  his  livelier  hours, 
which  came  "like  angel  visits,  lew  and  far  between,"  he 
amused  himself  with  the  playfulness  of  the  little  Earl  of 
Avon,  the  pompous  erudition  of  Mr.  Loftus  (who  was  be- 
come his  young  ward's  tutor),  and  with  giving  occasional 
entertainments  to  the  gentry  in  his  neighborhood. 

Of  all  the  personages  contained  within  this  circle 
(which  the  hospitality  of  Sir  Robert  extended  to  a  circum- 
ference of  fifty  miles),  the  noble  family  of  Castle  Granby, 
brave,  patriotic,  and  accomplished,  with  female  beauty  at 
its  head, 

"  Fitted  to  move  in  courts  or  walk  the  shade, 
With  innocence  and  contemplation  joined," 

were  held  in  the  highest  and  most  intimate  appreciation ; 
while  many  of  the  numerous  titled  visitants  who  attended 
the  celebrated  and  magnificent  Granby  hunt  were  of  too 
convivial  notoriety  to  be  often  admitted  within  the  social 
home  society  of  either  Castle  Granby  or  Somerset  Castle, 
the  two  cynosure  mansions  which,  now  palace-like,  crest 
with  their  peaceful  groves  the  summits  of  those  two  prom- 
ontory heights  whereon  in  former  times  they  stood  in 
fortress  strength,  the  guardians  of  each  opening  pass  into 
that  spacious  and  once-important  belligerent  vale. 

Among  the  less-esteemed  frequenters  of  the  chase  was  a 
devoted  Nimrod,  Sir  Richard  Shafto,  who  every  season 
fixed  himself  and  family  at  a  convenient  hunting-lodge 
near  the  little  town  of  Grantham,  with  his  right  worthy 
son  and  heir,  who  by  calling  at  Somerset  Castle  soon  after 
the  arrival  of  its  guests  caused  a  trifling  change  in  its 
arrangements.  When  Dick  Shafto  (as  all  the  grooms  in 
the  stables  familiarly  designated  him)  was  ushered  into 
the  room,  he  nodded  to  Sir  Robert,  and,  turning  hit  back 


336  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

on  the  ladies,  told  Pembroke  he  had  ridden  to  Somerset 
"on  purpose  to  bag  him  for  Woodhill  Lodge." 

"Upon  my  life,"  cried  he,  "if  you  don't  come,  I  will 
cut  and  run.  There  is  not  a  creature  but  yourself  within 
twenty  miles  to  whom  I  can  speak — not  a  man  worth  a 
sixpence.  I  wish  my  father  had  broken  his  neck  before 
he  accepted  that  confounded  embassy  which  incumbers 
me  with  the  charge  of  my  old  mother!" 

After  this  dutiful  wish,  which  brought  down  a  weighty 
admonition  from  Miss  Dorothy,  the  young  gentleman 
promised  to  behave  better,  provided  she  would  persuade 
Pembroke  to  accompany  him  to  the  lodge.  Mr.  Somerset 
did  not  show  much  alacrity  in  his  consent;  but  to  rid  his 
family  of  so  noisy  a  guest,  he  rose  from  his  chair,  and 
acquiescing  in  the  sacrifice  of  a  few  days  to  good  nature, 
bade  his  father  farewell,  and  gave  orders  for  a  ride  to 
Grantham. 

As  soon  as  the  gentlemen  left  the  saloon,  Miss  Dundas 
ran  upstairs,  and  from  her  dressing-room  window  in  the 
west  tower  pursued  the  steps  of  their  horses  as  they  can- 
tered down  the  winding  steep  into  the  high-road.  An 
abrupt  angle  of  the  hill  hiding  them  from  her  view,  she 
turned  round  with  a  toss  of  the  head,  and  flinging  herself 
into  a  chair,  exclaimed,  "Now  I  shall  be  bored  to  death 
by  this  prosing  family !  I  wish  his  boasted  hunter  had  run 
away  with  Shafto  before  he  thought  of  coming  here!" 

In  consequence  of  the  temper  which  engendered  the 
above  no  very  flattering  compliment  to  the  society  at  the 
castle,  Miss  Dundas  descended  to  the  dining-room  with 
sulky  looks  and  a  chilling  air.  She  ate  what  the  baronet 
laid  on  her  plate  with  an  indolent  appetite,  cut  her  meat 
carelessly,  and  dragged  the  vegetables  over  the  table-cloth. 
Miss  Dorothy  colored  at  this  indifference  to  the  usual 
neatness  of  her  damask  covers;  but  Miss  Dundas  was  so 
completely  in  the  sullens  that,  heedless  of  any  other  feel- 
ings than  her  own,  she  continued  to  pull  and  knock  about 
the  things  just  as  her  ill-humor  dictated. 

The  petulance  of  this  lady's  behavior  did  not  in  the 
least  assimilate  with  the  customary  decorum  of  Sir  Eobert's 
table;  and  when  the  cloth  was  drawn,  he  could  not  refrain 
from  expressing  his  concern  that  Somerset  Castle  appeared 
so  little  calculated  to  afford  satisfaction  to  a  daughter  of 
Lady  Dundas.     Miss  Dundas  attempted  some   awkward 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  33? 

declaration  that  she  never  was  more  amused — never  hap- 
pier. 

But  the  small  credit  Sir  Robert  gave  to  her  assertion  was 
fully  warranted  the  next  morning  by  the  ready  manner  in 
which  she  accepted  a  casual  invitation  to  spend  the  ensu- 
ing day  and  night  at  Lady  Shafto's.  Her  ladyship  called 
on  Miss  Dorothy,  and  intending  to  have  a  party  in  the 
evening,  invited  the  two  young  ladies  to  return  with  her 
Ito  Woodhill  Lodge,  and  be  her  guests  for  a  week.  Miss 
Beaufort,  whose  spirits  were  far  from  tranquilized,  declined 
her  civility;  but  with  a  gleam  of  pleasure  she  heard  it 
accepted  by  Miss  Dundas,  who  departed  with  her  ladyship 
for  the  lodge. 

While  the  enraptured  Diana,  all  life  and  glee,  bowled 
along  with  Lady  Shafto,  anticipating  the  delight  of  once 
more  seating  herself  at  the  elbow  of  Pembroke  Somerset, 
Mary  Beaufort,  relieved  from  a  load  of  ill-requited  atten- 
tions, walked  out  into  the  park,  to  enjoy  in  solitude  the 
"sweet  sorrow"  of  thinking  on  the  unhappy  and  far-distant 
Constantine.  Regardless  of  the  way,  her  footsteps,  though 
robbed  of  elasticity  by  nightly  watching  and  daily  regret, 
led  her  beyond  the  park,  to  the  ruined  church  of  Wool- 
thorpe,  its  southern  boundary.  Her  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  opposite  horizon.  It  was  the  extremity  of  Leicester- 
shire; and  far,  far  behind  those  hills  was  that  London 
which  contained  the  object  dearest  to  her  soul.  The  wind 
seemed  scarcely  to  breathe  as  it  floated  toward  her;  but  it 
came  from  that  quarter,  and  believing  it  laden  with  every 
sweet  which  love  can  fancy,  she  threw  back  her  veil  to 
inhale  its  balm,  then,  blaming  herself  for  such  weakness, 
she  turned,  blushing,  homeward  and  wept  at  what  she 
thought  her  unreasonably  tenacious  passion. 

The  arrival  of  Miss  Dundas  at  the  lodge  was  communi- 
cated to  the  two  young  men  on  their  return  from  travers- 
ing half  the  country  in  quest  of  game.  The  news  drew 
an  oath  from  Shafto,  but  rather  pleased  Somerset,  who 
augured  some  amusement  from  her  attempts  at  wit  and 
judgment.  Tired  to  death,  and  dinner  being  over  when 
they  entered,  with  ravenous  appetites  they  devoured  their 
uncomfortable  meal  in  a  remote  room;  then  throwing 
themselves  along  the  sofas,  yawned  and  slept  for  nearly 
two  hours. 

Pembroke  waking  first-,  suddenly  jumped  on  the  floor, 


S38  THADIfEVS  OF  WARSA  W. 

and  shaking  his  disordered  clothes,  exclaimed,  "Shafto! 
get  up.  This  is  abominable!  I  cannot  help  thinking 
that  if  we  spend  one-half  of  our  days  in  pleasure  and  the 
other  in  lolling  off  its  fatigues,  we  shall  have  passed 
through  life  more  to  our  shame  than  our  profit!" 

"Then  you  take  the  shame  and  leave  me  the  profit," 
cried  his  companion,  turning  himself  round:  "so  good- 
night to  you!" 

Pembroke  rang  the  bell.     A  servant  entered. 

"What  o'clock  is  it?" 

"Nine,  sir." 

"Who  are  above?'" 

"My  lady,  sir,  and  a  large  party  of  ladies." 

"There,  now!"  cried  Shafto,  yawning  and  kicking  out 
his  legs.  "You  surely  won't  go  to  be  bored  with  such 
maudlin  company?" 

"I  choose  to  join  your  mother,"  replied  Pembroke. 
"Are  there  any  gentlemen,  Stephen?" 

"One  sir:  Dr.  Denton." 

"Off  with  you!"  roared  Shafto;  "what  do  you  stand 
jabbering  there  for?  You  won't  let  me  sleep.  Can't  you 
send  away  the  fellow,  and  go  look  yourself?" 

"I  will,  if  you  can  persuade  yourself  to  rise  off  that  sofa 
and  come  with  me." 

"May  Lady  Hecate  catch  me  if  I  do!  Get  about  youi 
business,  and  leave  me  to  mine." 

"You  are  incorrigible,  Shafto,"  returned  Pembroke  as 
he  closed  the  door. 

He  went  upstairs  to  change  his  dress,  and  before  he 
gained  the  second  flight,  he  resolved  not  to  spend  another 
whole  day  in  the  company  of  such  an  ignorant,  unman- 
nerly cub. 

On  Mr.  Somerset's  entrance  into  Lady  Shafto's  drawing- 
room,  he  saw  many  ladies,  but  only  one  gentleman,  who 
was  the  before-mentioned  Dr.  Denton — a  poor,  shallow- 
headed,  parasitical  animal.  Pembroke  having  seen  enough 
of  him  to  despise  his  pretensions  both  to  science  and  sin- 
cerity, returned  his  wide  smirk  and  eager  inquiries  with  a 
ceremonious  bow,  and  took  his  seat  by  the  side  of  the  now 
slelighted  Miss  Dundas.  The  vivid  spirits  of  Diana, 
which  she  now  strove  to  render  peculiarly  sparkling,  enter- 
tained him.  When  compared  with  the  insipid  sameness 
of  her  ladyship,  or  the  coarse  ribaldry  of  her  son,  the 
mirth  of  Miss  Dundas  was  wit  and  her  remarks  wisdom. 


TIIADDEUb  OF  WAKSA  W.  339 

"Dear  Mr.  Somerset!"  cried  she,  "how  good  you  are 
to  break  this  sad  solemnity.  I  vow,  until  you  showed  your 
face,  I  thought  the  days  of  paganism  were  revived,  and 
that,  lacking  men,  we  were  assembled  here  to  celebrate  the 
mysteries  of  the  Bona  Dea." 

"Lacking  men!"  replied  he,  smiling;  "you  have  over- 
looked the  assiduous  Dr.  Denton?" 

"Oh,  no;  that  is  a  chameleon  in  man's  clothing.  He 
breathes  air,  he  eats  air,  he  speaks  air;  and  a  most  pesti- 
lential breath  it  is.  Only  observe  how  he  is  pouring  its 
fumes  into  the  ear  of  yonder  sable  statue." 

Pembroke  directed  his  eyes  as  Miss  Dundas  desired  him, 
and  saw  Dr.  Denton  whispering  and  bowing  before  a  lady 
in  black.  The  lady  put  up  her  lip:  the  doctor  proceeded; 
ghe  frowned :  he  would  not  be  daunted ;  the  lady  rose  from 
her  seat,  and  slightly  bending  her  head,  crossed  the  room. 
While  Mr.  Somerset  was  contemplating  her  graceful  figure, 
and  fine  though  pale  features,  Miss  Dundas  touched  his 
arm,  and  smiling  satirically,  repeated  in  an  affected  voice: 

*'  *  Hail,  pensive  nun!  devout  and  holy! 
Hail,  divinest  Melancholyl'  " 

"If  she  be  Melancholy,'*  returned  Pembroke,  "I  would 
forever  say 

"  '  Hence,  unholy  Mirth,  of  Folly  born!'  " 

Miss  Dundas  reddened.  She  never  liked  this  interest- 
ing woman,  who  was  not  only  too  handsome  for  competi- 
tion, but  possessed  an  understanding  that  would  not  tol- 
erate ignorance  or  presumption.  Diana's  ill-natured 
impertinence  having  several  times  received  deserved  chas- 
tisement from  that  quarter,  she  was  vexed  to  the  soul 
when  Pembroke  closed  his  animated  response  with  the 
question,  "Who  is  she?" 

Rather  too  bitterly  for  the  design  on  his  heart,  Miss 
Dundas  iterated  his  words,  and  then  answered,  "Why, 
she  is  crazed.  She  lives  in  a  place  called  HarroAvby  Abbey, 
at  the  top  of  that  hill, :;  continued  she,  pointing  through 
the  opposite  window  to  a  distant  rising  ground,  on  which 
the  moon  was  shining  brightly;  "and  I  am  told  she 
frightens  the  cottagers  out  of  their  wits  by  her  midnight 
strolls." 


340  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Hardly  knowing  how  to  credit  this  wila  account,  Pem- 
broke asked  his  informer  if  she  were  serious. 

"Never  more  so.     Her  eyes  are  uncommonly  wild." 

''You  must  be  jesting,"  returned  he;  "they  seem  per- 
fectly reasonable." 

Miss  Dundas  laughed.  "Like  Hamlet's,  they  'know 
not  seems,  but  have  that  within  which  passeth  show !'  Be- 
lieve me,  she  is  mad  enough  for  Bedlam;  and  of  that  I 
could  soon  convince  you.  I  wonder  how  Lady  Shafto 
thought  of  inviting  her;  she  quite  stupefied  our  dinner." 

"Well,"  cried  Pembroke,  "if  those  features  announced 
madness,  I  shall  never  admire  a  look  of  sense  again." 

"Bless  us,"  exclaimed  Miss  Dundas,  "you  are  wonder- 
fully struck!  Don't  you  see  she  is  old  enough  to  be  your 
mother?" 

"That  may  be,"  answered  he,  smiling;  "nevertheless 
she  is  one  of  the  most  lovely  women  I  ever  beheld.  "Come, 
tell  me  her  name." 

"I  will  satisfy  you  in  a  moment,"  rejoined  Diana;  "and 
then  away  with  your  rhapsodies!  She  is  the  very  Count- 
ess of  Tinemouth,  who  brought  that  vagabond  foreigner 
to  our  house  who  would  have  run  off  with  Phemy!" 

"Lady  Tinemouth!"  exclaimed  Pembroke;  "I  never 
saw  her  before.  My  ever-lamented  mother  knew  her 
while  I  was  abroad,  and  she  esteemed  her  highly.  Pray 
introduce  me  to  her!" 

"Impossible,"  replied  Diana,  vexed  at  the  turn  his 
curiosity  had  taken;  "I  wrote  to  her  about  the  insidious 
wretch,  and  now  we  don't  speak." 

"Then  I  will  introduce  myself,"  answered  he.  He  was 
moving  away,  when  Miss  Dundas  caught  his  arm,  and  by 
various  attempts  at  badinage  and  raillery,  held  him  in  his 
place  until  the  countess  had  made  her  farewell  courtesy  to 
Lady  Shafto,  and  the  door  was  closed. 

Disappointed  by  this  maneuver,  Pembroke  reseated 
himself;  and  wondering  why  his  aunt  and  cousin  had  not 
heard  of  Lady  Tinemouth's  arrival  at  Harrowby,  he  de- 
termined to  wait  on  her  next  day.  Regardless  of  every 
word  which  the  provoked  Diana  addressed  to  him,  he 
remained  silent  and  meditating,  until  the  loud  voice  of 
Shafto,  bellowing  in  his  ear,  made  him  turn  suddenly 
round.  Miss  Dundas  tried  to  laugh  at  his  reverie,  though 
she  knew  that  such  a  flagrant  instance  of  inattention  was 


TQADDEU8  OF  WAllSAW  341 

death  to  her  hopes;  but  Pembroke,  not  inclined  to  par- 
take iu  the  jest,  coolly  asked  his  bearish  companion  what 
he  wanted. 

"Nothing,"  cried  he,  "but  to  hear  you  speak!  Miss 
Dundas  tells  me  yon  have  lost  your  heart  to  yonder  grim 
countess.  My  mother  wanted  me  to  gallant  her  up  the 
hill;  but  I  would  see  her  in  the  river  first!" 

"Shafto!"  answered  Pembroke,  rising  from  his  chair, 
"you  cannot  be  speaking  of  Lady  Tinemouth?" 

"E'faith  I  am,"  roared  he;  "and  if  she  be  such  a 
scamp  as  to  live  without  a  carriage,  I  won't  be  her  lackey 
for  nothing.  The  matter  of  a  mile  is  not  to  be  tramped 
over  by  me  with  no  pleasanter  companion  than  an  old 
painted  woman  of  quality." 

"Surely  you  cannot  mean,"  returned  Pembroke,  "that 
her  ladvship  was  to  walk  from  this  place?" 

"Without  a  doubt,"  cried  Shafto,  bursting  into  a  hoarse 
laugh;  "you  would  be  clever  to  see  my  Lady  Stingy  in 
any  other  carriage  than  her  clogs." 

Irritated  at  the  malice  of  Miss  Dundas,  and  despising 
the  vulgar  illiberality  of  Shafto,  without  deigning  a  reply, 
Pembroke  abruptly  left  the  room,  and  hastening  out  of 
the  house,  ran,  rather  than  walked,  in  hopes  of  overtak- 
ing the  countess  before  she  reached  Harrow  by. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

THE  VALE  OF  GRANTHAM — BELVOIB. 

Pembroke  crossed  the  little  wooden  bridge  which  lies 
over  the  Witham;  he  scoured  the  field;  he  leaped  every 
stile  and  gate  in  his  way,  and  at  last  gained  the  inclosure 
that  leads  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  where  he  descried  a  light 
moving,  and  very  rightly  conjectured  it  must  be  the  lan- 
tern carried  by  the  countess'  attendant.  Another  spring 
over  the  shattered  fence  cleared  all  obstacles,  and  he 
found  himself  close  to  Lady  Tinemouth,  who  was  leaning 
on  the  arm  of  a  gentleman.  Pembroke  stopped  at  this 
sight.  Supposing  she  had  been  met  by  some  person  be- 
longing to  the  neighborhood,  whose  readier  gallantry  now 
occupied  the  place  which  Miss  Dundas  had  presented  him 


342  TBADDEVS  OF  WARSAW. 

from  filling,  he  was  preparing  to  retreat,  when  Lady  Tine« 
mouth,  happening  to  turn  her  head,  imagined,  from  the 
hesitating  embarrassment  of  his  manner,  that  he  was  a 
stranger  who  had  lost  his  way,  and  accosted  him  with 
that  inquiry. 

Pembroke  bowed  in  some  confusion,  and  related  the 
simple  fact  of  his  having  heard  that  she  had  quitted  Lady 
Shafto's  house  without  any  guard  but  the  servant,  and 
that  the  moment  he  learned  the  circumstance  he  had 
hurried  out  to  proffer  his  services.  The  countess  not  only 
thanked  him  for  such  attention,  but,  constrained  by  a 
civility  which  at  that  instant  she  could  have  wished  not 
to  have  been  necessary,  asked  him  to  walk  forward  with 
her  to  the  abbey,  and  partake  of  some  refreshment. 

"But,"  added  she,  "though  I  perfectly  recollect  having 
seen  another  gentleman  in  Lady  Shafto's  room  besides 
Dr.  Denton,  I  have  not  the  houor  of  knowing  your 
name." 

"It  is  Somerset,"  returned  Pembroke;  "I  am  the  son 
of  that  Lady  Somerset  who,  during  the  last  year  of  her 
life,  had  the  happiness  of  being  intimate  with  your  lady- 
ship." 

Lady  Tinemouth  expressed  her  pleasure  at  this  meeting; 
and  turning  to  the  gentleman  who  was  walking  in  silence 
by  her  side,  said,  "Mr.  Constantine,  allow  me  to  intro- 
duce to  you  the  cousin  of  the  amiable  Miss  Beaufort." 

Thaddeus,  who  had  too  well  recognized  the  voice  of 
his  false  friend  in  the  first  accents  he  addressed  to  the 
countess,  with  a  swelling  heart  bent  his  head  to  the  cold 
salutation  of  Somerset.  Hearing  that  her  ladyship's  com- 
panion was  the  same  Constantine  whom  he  had  liberated 
from  prison,  Pembroke  was  stimulated  with  a  desire  to 
take  the  perhaps  favorable  occasion  to  unmask  his  double 
villainy  to  Lady  Tinemouth;  and  conceivinga  curiosity  to 
see  the  man  whose  person  and  meretricious  qualities  had 
blinded  the  judgment  of  his  aunt  and  cousin,  he  readily 
obeyed  the  second  invitation  of  the  countess,  and  consented 
to  go  home  and  sup  with  her. 

Meanwhile,  Thaddeus  was  agitated  with  a  variety  of 
emotions.  Every  tone  of  Pembroke's  voice,  reminding 
him  of  happier  days,  pierced  his  heart,  while  a  sense  of 
his  ingratitude  awakened  all  the  pride  and  indignation  of 
his  soul.     Pull  of  resentment,  he  determined  that,  what- 


THADBEUS  OF  WARSAW.  343 

ever  might,  be  the  result,  be  would  not  shrink  from  an 
interview,  the  anticipation  of  which  Pembroke  (who  had 
received  from  himself  an  intimation  of  the  name  he  had 
assumed)  seemed  to  regard  with  so  much  contemptuous 
indifference. 

Not  imagining  that  Somerset  and  the  count  had  any 
personal  knowledge  of  each  other,  Lady  Tinemouth  begged 
the  gentlemen  to  accompany  her  into  the  supper-parlor. 
Pembroke,  with  inconsiderate,  real  indifference,  passed  by 
Thaddeus  to  give  his  hand  to  the  countess.  Thaddeus 
was  so  shocked  at  this  instance  of  something  very  like  a 
personal  affront  that,  insulted  in  every  nerve,  he  was 
obliged  to  pause  a  moment  in  the  hall,  to  summon  coolness 
to  follow  him  with  a  composed  step  and  dispassionate 
countenance.  He  accomplished  this  conquest  over  him- 
self, and  taking  off  his  hat,  entered  theroom.  Lady 
Tinemouth  began  to  congratulate  herself  with  many  kind 
expressions  on  his  arrival.  The  eyes  of  Pembroke  fixed 
themselves  on  the  calm  but  severe  aspect  of  the  man  before 
him;  he  stood  by  the  table  with  such  an  air  of  noble 
greatness  that  the  candid  heart  of  Pembroke  Somerset 
soon  whispered  to  himself,  "Sure  nothing  ill  can  dwell  in 
such  a  breast!" 

Still  his  eyes  followed  him,  when  he  turned  round,  and 
when  he  bent  his  head  to  answer  the  countess,  but  in  a  voice 
so  low  that  it  escaped  his  ear.  Pembroke  was  bewildered. 
There  was  something  in  the  features,  in  the  mien  of  this 
foreigner,  so  like  his  friend  Sobieski!  But  then  Sobieski 
was  all  frankness  and  animation;  his  cheeks  bloomed  with 
the  rich  coloring  of  youth  and  happiness,  his  eyes  flashed 
pleasure,  and  his  lips  were  decked  with  smiles.  On  the 
contrary,  the  person  before  him  was  not  only  considerably 
taller  and  of  more  manly  proportions,  but  his  face  was 
pale,  reserved,  and  haughty;  besides,  he  did  not  appear 
even  to  recollect  the  name  of  Somerset;  and  what  at  once 
might  destroy  the  supposition,  his  own  was  simply  Con- 
stantine. 

These  reasonings  having  quickly  passed  through  the 
mind  of  Pembroke,  they  left  his  heart  unsatisfied.  The 
conflict  of  his  doubts  flushed  his  cheeks;  his  bosom  beat; 
and  keeping  his  searching  and  ardent  gaze  riveted  on  the 
man  who  was  either  his  friend  or  his  counterpart,  on  Lady 
Tinemouth  turning  away  to  lay  her  cloak  down,  the  eyes 


344  TBADDms  OF  WA118A  W. 

of  the  young  men  met.  Thaddeus  turned  paler  than 
before.  There  is  an  intelligence  in  the  interchange  of 
looks  which  cannot  be  mistaken;  it  is  the  communication 
of  souls,  and  there  is  no  deception  in  their  language. 
Pembroke  flew  forward,  and  catching  hold  of  his  friend's 
hand,  exclaimed  in  an  impetuous  voice,  "Am  I  right? 
Are  you  Sobieski?" 

"I  am,"  returned  Thaddeus,  almost  inarticulate  with 
emotion,  and  hardly  knowing  what  to  understand  by 
Somerset's  behavior. 

"Gracious  Heaven!"  cried  he,  still  grasping  his  hand; 
"can  you  have  forgotten  your  friend  Pembroke  Somerset?" 

The  ingenuous  heart  of  Thaddeus  acknowledged  the 
words  and  manner  of  Pembroke  to  be  the  language  of  truth. 
Trusting  that  some  mistake  had  involved  his  former  con- 
duct, he  at  once  cast  off  suspicion,  and  throwing  his  arms 
around  him,  strained  him  to  his  breast  and  burst  into 
tears. 

Lady  Tinemouth,  who  during  this  scene  stood  mute 
with  surprise,  now  advanced  to  the  friends,  who  were 
weeping  on  each  other's  necks,  and  taking  a  hand  of  each, 
"My  dear  Sobieski,"  cried  she,  "why  did  you  withhold 
the  knowledge  of  this  friendship  from  me?  Had  you  told 
me  that  you  and  Mr.  Somerset  were  acquainted,  this  happy 
meeting  might  have  been  accomplished  sooner." 

"Yes,"  replied  Pembroke,  turning  to  the  countess  and 
wiping  away  the  tears  which  were  trembling  on  his  cheek; 
"nothing  could  have  given  me  pain  at  this  moment  but 
the  conviction  that  he  who  was  the  preserver  of  my  life, 
and  my  most  generous  protector,  should  in  this  country 
have  endured  the  most  abject  distress  rather  than  let  me 
know  it  was  in  my  power  to  be  grateful." 

Thaddeus  took  out  his  handkerchief,  and  for  a  few 
moments  concealed  his  face.  The  countess  looked  on  him 
with  tenderness;  and  believing  he  Avould  sooner  regain 
composure  were  he  alone  with  his  friend,  she  stole  unob- 
served out  of  the  room. 

Pembroke  affectionately  resumed:  "But  I  hope,  dear 
Sobieski,  you  will  never  leave  me  more.  I  have  an  excel- 
lent father,  who,  when  he  is  made  acquainted  with  my 
obligations  to  you  and  your  noble  family,  will  glory  in 
loving  you  as  a  son." 

Having  subdued  "the  woman  in  his  heart,"  Thaddeus 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  345 

raised  his  head  with  an  expression  in  his  eyes  far  different 
from  that  which  had  chilled  the  blood  of  Pembroke  on 
their  first  encounter. 

"Circumstances/'  said  he,  "dear  Somerset,  have  made 
me  greatly  injure  you.  A  strange  neglect  on  your  side, 
since  we  separated  at  Villanow,  gave  the  first  blow  to  my 
confidence  in  your  friendship.  Though  I  lost  your  direct 
address,  I  wrote  to  you  often,  and  yet  you  persevered  in 
silence.  After  having  witnessed  the  destruction  of  all 
that  was  dear  to  me  in  Poland,  and  then  of  Poland  itself, 
when  I  came  to  England  I  wished  to  give  your  faithful- 
ness another  chance.  I  addressed  two  letters  to  you.  I 
even  delivered  the  last  at  your  door  myself,  and  I  saw 
vou  in  the  window  when  I  sent  it  in." 

"By  all  that  is  sacred,"  cried  Pembroke  vehemently 
and  amazed,  "  I  never  saw  any  letter  from  you !  I  wrote 
you  many.  I  never  heard  of  those  you  mention.  Indeed, 
I  should  even  now  have  been  ignorant  of  the  palatine's 
and  your  mother's  cruel  fate  had  it  not  been  too  circum- 
stantially related  in  the  newspapers." 

"I  believe  you,"  returned  Thaddeus,  drawing  an  ago- 
nizing sigh  at  the  dreadful  picture  which  the  last  sentence 
recalled.  "I  believe  you;  though  at  the  time  of  which 
I  speak,  I  thought  otherwise,  for  both  my  last  letters 
were  reenclosed  to  me  in  a  blank  cover,  directed  as  if  by 
your  hand,  and  brought  by  a  servant,  with  a  message  that 
there  was  no  answer." 

"Amazing!"  exclaimed  Somerset;  "there  must  be 
some  horrible  treachery !  Can  it  be  that  some  lurking 
foreign  spy  got  among  my  servants  at  Dantzic,  and  has 
been  this  traitor  ever  since?  Oh,  Thaddeus!"  cried  he, 
abruptly  interrupting  himself,  and  grasping  his  hand,  "I 
would  have  flown  to  you,  had  it  been  to  meet  death,  in- 
stead of  the  greatest  joy  Heaven  could  bestow  upon  me. 
But  why  did  you  not  come  in  yourself?  then  no  mistake 
could  have  happened!    Oh,  why  did  you  not  come  in?" 

"Because  I  was  uncertain  of  your  sentiments.  My  first 
letter  remained  unnoticed;  and  my  heart,  dear  Somerset," 
added  he,  pressing  his  hand,  "would  not  stoop  to  solicita- 
tion." 

"Solicitation!"  exclaimed  Pembroke,  with  warmth; 
"you  have  a  right  to  demand  my  life !  But  there  is  some 
deep  villainy  in  this  affair ;  nothing  else  could  have  carried 


346  TUADDRXT8  OF  WARSAW. 

it  through.  Oh,  if  anybody  belonging  to  me  has  dared 
to  open  these  letters — oh,  Sobieski!"  cried  he,  interrupt- 
ing himself,  "how  you  must  have  despised  me!" 

"I  was  afiTcted,"  returned  Thaddeus,  "that  the  man 
whom  my  family  so  warmly  loved  could  prove  so  unworthy; 
and  afterward,  whenever  I  met  you  in  the  streets,  which 
I  think  was  more  than  once  or  twice,  I  confess  that  to 
pass  you  cut  me  to  the  heart." 

"And  you  have  met  me?"  exclaimed  Pembroke,  "and. 
I  not  see  you;  I  cannot  comprehend  it." 

"Yes,"  answered  Thaddeus;  "and  the  first  time  was 
going  into  the  playhouse.     I  believe  I  called  after  you." 

"Is  it  not  now  ten  months  since?"  returned  Pembroke. 
"I  remember  very  well  that  some  one  called  out  my  name 
in  a  voice  that  seemed  known  to  me,  while  I  was  handing 
Lady  Calthorpe  and  her  sister  into  the  porch.  I  looked 
about,  but  not  seeing  any  one  I  knew,  I  thought  I  must 
have  been  mistaken.  But  why,  dear  Sobieski,  why  did 
you  not  follow  me  into  the  theater?" 

Thaddeus  shook  his  head  and  smiled  languidly.  "My 
poverty  would  not  permit,"  replied  he;  "but  I  waited  in 
the  hall  until  everybody  left  the  house,  in  hopes  of  inter- 
cepting you  as  you  passed  again." 

Pembroke  sprang  from  his  chair  at  these  words  and 
with  vehemence  exclaimed,  "I  see  it!  That  hypocrite 
Loftus  is  at  the  bottom  of  it  He  followed  me  into  the 
theater;  he  must  have  seen  you,  and  his  cursed  selfishness 
was  alarmed.  Yes:  it  is  no  foreign  traitor!  it  must  be 
he!  He  would  not  allow  me  to  return  that  way.  When 
I  said  I  would,  he  told  me  a  thousand  lies  about  the  car- 
riages coming  round;  and  I,  believing  him,  went  out  by 
another  door.     I  will  tax  him  of  it  to  his  face!" 

"Who  is  Mr.  Loftus?"  inquired  Thaddeus,  surprised  at 
his  friend's  suspicion;  "I  do  not  know  the  man." 

"What!"  returned  Pembroke,  "don't  you  remember 
that  Loftus  is  the  name  of  my  scoundrel  tutor  who  per- 
suaded me  to  volunteer  against  Poland?  To  screen  his 
baseness  I  have  brought  all  this  upon  myself." 

"Now  I  recollect  it,"  replied  Thaddeus;  "but  I  never 
saw  him." 

"Yet  I  am  not  less  certain  that  I  am  right,"  replied 
Somerset.  "I  will  tell  you  my  reasons.  After  I  quitted 
Villanow,  you  may  remember  I  was  to  meet  him  at  Dant- 


TUADDEUS  OF  WARSA  )V.  347 

eic.  Before  we  left  the  port,  he  implored  almost  on  his 
knees  that  in  pit}'  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  whom  he 
said  he  supported  out  of  his  salary,  I  would  refrain  from 
incensing  my  parents  against  him  by  relating  any  circum- 
stance of  our  visit  to  Poland.  The  man  shed  tears  as  he 
spoke;  and,  like  a  fool,  I  consented  to  keep  the  secret  till 
the  vicar  of  Somerset  (a  poor  soul,  still  ill  of  dropsy)  dies, 
and  he  be  in  possession  of  the  living.  When  we  landed 
in  England,  I  found  the  cause  of  my  sudden  recall  had 
been  the  illness  of  my  dear  mother.  But  Heaven  denied 
me  the  happiness  of  beholding  her  again;  she  had  been 
buried  two  days  before  I  reached  the  shore."  Pembroke 
paused  a  moment,  and  then  resumed:  "For  near  a  month 
after  my  return  I  could  not  quit  my  room ;  on  my  recovery, 
I  wrote  both  to  you  and  to  the  palatine.  But  I  still  locked 
up  your  names  within  my  heart,  the  old  rector  being  yet 
in  existence.  I  repeated  my  letters  at  least  every  six 
weeks  during  the  first  year  of  our  separation,  though  you 
persisted  in  being  silent.  Hurt  as  I  was  at  this  neglect,  I 
believed  that  gratitude  demanded  some  sacrifices  from 
pride,  and  I  continued  to  write  even,  till  the  spring  fol- 
lowing. Meanwhile  the  papers  of  the  day  teemed  with 
Sobieski's  actions — Sobieski's  fame;  and  supposing  that 
increasing  glory  had  blotted  me  out  of  your  memory,  I 
resolved  thenceforth  to  regard  our  friendship  as  a  dream 
and  never  to  speak  of  it  more." 

Confounded  at  this  double  misapprehension,  Thaddeus 
with  a  glowing  countenance  expressed  his  regret  for  having 
doubted  his  friend,  and  repeating  the  assurance  of  having 
been  punctual  to  his  promise  of  correspondence,  even 
when    he   dreamed   him    inconstant,    acknowledged   that 

lothing  but  a  premeditated  scheme  could  have  effected  so 
many  disappointments. 

"Ay,"  returned   Pembroke,  reddening  with  awakened 

Qger;  "I  could  swear  that  Mr.  Loftus  has  all  my  letters 
in  his  bureau  at  this  moment!  No  house  ever  gave  a  man 
a  better  opportunity  to  play  the  rogue  in  than  ours.  It 
is  a  custom  with  us  to  lay  our  letters  every  morning  on  the 
hall  table,  whence  they  are  sent  to  the  office,  and  when 
the  post  arrives  they  are  spread  out  in  the  same  way,  that 
their  several  owners  may  take  them  as  they  pass  to  break- 
fast. From  this  arrangement  I  cannot  doubt  the  means 
by  which  Mr.  Loftus,  under  the  hope  of  separating  us 


348  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

forever,  has  intercepted  every  letter  to  you  and  every 
letter  from  you.  I  suppose  the  wretch  feared  I  might 
become  impatient  and  break  my  engagement  if  our  cor- 
respondence were  allowedo  He  trembled  lest  the  business 
should  be  blown  before  the  rector  died,  and  he,  in  conse- 
quence, lose  both  the  expected  living  and  his  present  situa- 
tion about  Lord  Avon.  A  villain !  for  once  he  has  judged 
rightly.  I  will  n.nmask  him  to  my  father  and  show  him 
what  it  is  to  purchase  advancement  at  the  expense  of  honor 
and  justice." 

Thaddeus,  who  could  not  withhold  immediate  credit  to 
these  evidences  of  chicanery,  tried  to  calm  the  violence  of 
his  friend,  who  only  answered  by  insisting  on  having  his 
company  back  with  him  to  Somerset  Castle. 

"I  long  to  present  you  to  my  father,"  cried  he. 
"When  I  tell  him  who  you  are,  of  your  kindness  to  me, 
how  rejoiced  will  he  be !  How  happy,  how  proud  to  have 
you  his  guest;  to  show  the  grandson  of  the  Palatine  of 
Masovia  the  warm  gratitude  of  a  Briton's  heart!  Indeed, 
Sobieski,  you  will  love  him,  for  he  is  generous  and  noble, 
like  your  inestimable  grandfather.  Besides,"  added  he, 
smiling  with  a  sudden  recollection,  "there  is  my  lovely 
cousin,  Mary  Beaufort,  Avho  I  verily  believe  will  fly  into 
your  arms!" 

The  blood  rushed  over  the  cheeks  of  Thaddeus  at  this 
spcoch  of  his  friend,  and  suppressing  a  bitter  sigh,  he 
shook  his  head. 

"Don't  look  so  like  an  infidel,''  resumed  Somerset.  "If 
you  have  any  doubts  of  possessing  her  most  precious  feel- 
ings I  can  put  you  out  of  your  suspense  by  a  single  sen- 
tence! When  Lady  Dunda,1;'  household,  with  myself 
among  them  (for  little  did  I  suspect  I  was  joining  the  cry 
against  my  friend),  were  asserting  the  most  flagrant  in- 
stances of  your  deceit  to  Euphemia,  Mary  alone  withstood 
the  tide  of  malice,  and  compelled  me  to  release  you." 

"Gracious  Providence!"  cried  Thaddeus,  catching 
Pembroke's  hand  and  looking  eagerly  and  with  agitation 
in  his  face;  "was  it  you  who  came  to  my  prison?  Was  it 
Miss  Beaufort  who  visited  my  lodgings?" 

"Indeed  it  was,"  returned  his  friend,  "and  I  blush  for 
myself  that  I  quitted  Newgate  without  an  interview.  Had 
I  followed  the  dictates  of  common  courtesy  in  the  fulfill- 
ment of  my  commission,  I  should  have  seen  you ;  and  then, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  349 

what  pain  would  have  been  spared  my  dear  cousin !     What 
a  joyful  surprise  would  have  awaited  myself!" 

Thaddeus  could  only  reply  by  pressing  his  friend's  hand. 
His  brain  whirled.  He  could  not  decide  on  the  nature  of 
his  feelings;  one  moment  he  would  have  given  worlds  to 
throw  himself  at  Miss  Beaufort's  feet,  and  the  next  he 
trembled  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  her  so  soon. 

"Dear  Sobieski!"  cried  Pembroke,  "how  strangely  you 
receive  this  intelligence!  Is  it  possible  such  sentiments 
from  Mary  Beaufort  can  be  regarded  by  a  soul  like  yours 
with  coldness?" 

"Oh,  no!"  cried  the  count,  his  fine  face  flushed  with 
emotion.  "I  adore  Miss  Beaufort.  Her  virtues  possess 
my  whole  heart.  But  can  I  forget  that  I  have  only  that 
heart  to  offer?  Can  I  forget  that  I  am  a  beggar — that 
even  now  I  exist  on  her  bounty?"  The  eyes  of  Thaddeus, 
and  the  sudden  tremor  which  shook  his  frame,  finished 
this  appeal  to  his  fate. 

Pembroke  found  it  enter  his  soul.  To  hide  its  effect, 
he  threw  himself  on  his  friend's  breast  and  exclaimed, 
"Do  not  injure  me  and  my  father  by  such  thoughts.  You 
are  come,  dearest  Sobieski,  to  a  second  home.  Sir  Kobert 
Somerset  will  consider  himself  ennobled  in  supplying  the 
place  of  your  lamented  grandfather — in  endowing  you 
like  a  son!  Oh,  Thaddeus,  you  must  be  my  cousin,  dear 
as  a  brother,  as  well  as  my  friend!" 

Thaddeus  replied  with  an  agitated  affection  as  true  as 
that  of  the  generous  speaker.  "But,"  added  he,  "I  must 
not  allow  the  noble  heart  of  my  now  regained  Somerset  to 
believe  that  I  can  live  a  dependent  on  any  power  but  the 
Author  of  my  being.  Therefore,  if  Sir  Robert  Somerset 
will  assist  me  to  procure  some  unobtrusive  way  of  acquir- 
ing my  own  support  in  the  simplicity  I  wish,  I  shall  thank 
him  from  my  soul.  In  no  other  way,  my  kindest  friend, 
can  I  ever  be  brought  to  tax  the  munificence  of  your 
father." 

Pembroke  colored  at  this  and  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  of 
distress  and  displeasure,  "Sobieski!  what  can  you  mean? 
Do  you  imagine  that  ever  my  father  or  myself  can  forget 
that  you  were  little  less  than  a  prince  in  your  own  country 
— that  when  in  so  high  a  station  you  treated  me  like  a 
brother — that  you  preserved  me  even  when  I  lifted  my  arm 
against  your  life?    Can  we.  be  such  monsters  as  to  forget 


3o0  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

all  this,  or  to  think  that  we  act  justly  by  yon  in  permitting 
you  to  labor  for  your  bread?  No,  Thaddeus;  my  very 
soul  spurns  the  idea.  Your  mother  sheltered  me  as  a  son ; 
and  I  insist  that  you  allow  my  father  to  perform  the 
same  part  by  you!  Besides,  you  shall  not  be  idle;  you 
may  have  a  commission  in  the  army,  and  I  will  follow 
you." 

The  count  pressed  the  hand  of  his  friend,  and  looking 
gratefully  but  mournfully  in  his  face,  replied,  "Had  I  a 
hundred  tongues,  my  generous  Pembroke,  I  could  not  ex- 
press my  sense  of  your  friendship;  it  is  indeed  a  cordial 
to  my  heart;  it  imparts  to  me  an  earnest  of  happiness 
which  I  thought  had  fled  forever.  But  it  shall  not  allure 
me  from  my  principles.  I  am  resolved  not  to  live  a  life 
of  indolent  uselessness;  and  I  cannot,  at  this  period,  enter 
the  British  army.  No,"  added  he,  emotion  elevating  his 
tone  and  manner;  "rather  would  I  toil  for  subsistence  by 
the  sweat  of  my  brow  than  be  subjected  to  the  necessity 
of  acting  in  concert  with  those  ravagers  who  destroyed  my 
country!  I  cannot  fight  by  the  side  of  the  allied  powers 
who  dismembered  it!  I  cannot  enlist  under  the  allies!  I 
will  not  be  led  out  to  devastation!  Mine  was,  and  ever 
shall  be,  a  defensive  sword;  and  should  danger  threaten 
England,  I  would  be  as  ready  to  withstand  her  enemies  as 
I  ardently,  though  ineffectually,  opposed  those  of  unhappy 
Poland." 

Pembroke  recognized  the  devoted  soul  of  Thaddeus  of 
Warsaw  in  this  lofty  burst  of  enthusiasm;  and  aware  that 
his  father's  munificence  and  manner  of  conferring  it  would 
go  further  toward  removing  these  scruples  than  all  his 
own  arguments,  he  did  not  attempt  to  combat  a  resolution 
which  he  knew  he  could  not  subdue,  but  tried  to  prevail 
with  him  to  become  his  guest  until  something  could  be 
arranged  to  suit  his  wishes. 

With  an  unuttered  emotion  at  the  thought  of  meeting 
Miss  Beaufort,  Thaddeus  had  just  consented  to  accompany 
Somerset  to  the  castle,  after  Sir  Robert  had  been  apprised 
of  his  coming,  when  the  countess'  old  and  faithfully 
attached  man-servant  entered,  and  respectfully  informed 
her  guests  that  his  lady,  not  willing  to  disturb  their  con- 
versation, had  retired  to  her  room  for  the  night,  but  that 
beds  were  prepared  for  them  in  the  abbey,  and  she  hoped 
to  meet  both  friends  at  her  breakfast-table  in  the  morn- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  351 

ing.  The  honest  man  then  added,  "It  was  now  past 
eleven  o'clock;  and  after  their  honors  had  partaken  of 
their  yet  untasted  refreshment,  he  would  be  ready  to 
attend  them  to  their  chambers." 

Pembroke  started  up  at  this,  and  shaking  his  friend 
warmly  by  the  hand,  bade  him,  he  said,  "a  short  fare- 
well;" and  hastening  down  the  hill,  arrived  at  the  gate  of 
the  Wold  Lodge  just  at  the  turn  of  midnight. 

At  an  early  hour  the  next  morning  he  gave  orders  to  his 
groom,  wrote  a  slight  apology  to  Shafto  for  his  abrupt 
departure,  and  mounting  his  fleet  horse,  galloped  away 
full  of  delight  toward  Somerset  Castle. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

SOMERSET    CASTLE. 

But  Sobieski  did  not  follow  the  attentive  domestic  of 
his  maternal  friend  to  the  prepared  apartment  in  the 
abbey.  He  asked  to  be  conducted  back  through  the 
night-shadowed  grounds  to  the  little  hotel  he  had  seen 
early  in  the  evening  on  his  approach  to  the  mansion.  It 
stood  at  the  entrance  of  the  adjoining  village,  and  under 
its  rustic  porch  he  had  immediately  entered,  to  engage  a 
lodging  beneath  its  humble  sign,  the  Plow,  for  the  few 
days  of  his  intended  visit  to  Lady  Tinemouth.  A  boy  had 
been  his  guide,  and  bearer  of  his  small  traveling-bag,  from 
the  famous  old  Commandery  inn,  the  Angel,  at  Grantham, 
where  the  Wold  diligence  had  set  him  down  in  the  after- 
noon at  the  top  of  the  market-place  of  that  memorable 
town  of  ancient  chivalry,  to  find  his  way  up  to  the  occa- 
sional rural  palace  cells  on  Harrowby  Hill,  of  the  same 
doughty  and  luxurious  knights  who  were  now  lying,  indi- 
vidually forgotten,  in  their  not  only  silent  but  unknown 
graves,  there  not  being  a  trace  of  them  among  the  chapel 
ruins  of  the  Abbey,  nor  below  the  hill,  on  the  sight  of  the 
old  Commandery  church  at  Grantham. 

"Ah,  transit  mundi!"  exclaimed  Thaddeus  to  himself, 
with  a  calmed  sigh,  as  he  thought  on  those  things,  while 
resting  under  the  modest  little  portal  of  the  hotel,  whose 
former  magnificence,  when  a  hermit  cell,  might  still  bo 


352  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

discernible  in  a  few  remaining  remnants  of  the  rich  Gothic 
lintel  yet  mingling  with  the  matted  straw  and  the  clinging 
ivy  of  the  thatch. 

"What  art  thou,  world,  and  thine  ambitions?"  again 
echoed  in  silence  from  the  heart  of  Thaddeus.  "Though 
yet  so  young,  I  have  seen  thee  in  all  thy  phases  which 
might  wean  me  from  this  earth.  But  there  are  still  some 
beings  dear  to  me  in  the  dimmed  aspect  that  seem  to  hold 
my  hopes  to  this  transitory  and  yet  too  lovely  world." 
He  was  then  thinking  of  his  restored  friend  Pembroke 
Somerset,  and  of  her  whose  name  had  been  so  fondly 
uttered  by  him  as  a  possible  bond  of  their  still  more  inti- 
mate relationship.  He  tried  to  quell  the  wild  hope  this 
recollection  waked  in  his  bosom  and  hurried  from  the 
little  parlor  of  the  inn,  where  Lady  Tinemouth's  old  serv- 
ant had  left  him  to  seek  repose  in  his  humbly  prepared 
chamber. 

At  sight  of  its  white-robed  bed  and  simple  furniture, 
and  instantly  conscious  to  the  balmy  effects  of  the  sweet 
freshness  that  breathed  around  him,  where  no  perfume 
but  that  of  flowers  ever  entered,  his  agitated  feelings  soon 
became  soothed  into  serenity,  and  within  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  after  he  had  laid  his  grateful  head  on  that  quiet 
pillow,  he  had  sunk  to  a  sleep  of  gentle  peace  with  man 
and  Heaven. 

Next  morning,  when  the  countess  met  her  gladly  rewel- 
comed  guest  at  the  breakfast-table,  she  expressed  surprise 
and  pleasure  at  the  scene  of  the  preceding  night,  but 
intimated  some  mortification  that  he  had  withheld  any 
part  of  his  confidence  from  her.  Sobieski  soon  obtained 
her  pardon,  by  relating  the  manner  of  his  first  meeting 
with  Mr.  Somerset  in  Poland  and  the  consequent  events 
of  that  momentous  period. 

Lady  Tinemouth  wept  over  the  distressful  fate  that 
marked  the  residue  of  his  narrative  with  a  tenderness 
which  yet  more  endeared  her  to  his  soul.  But  when,  in 
compliance  with  his  inquiries,  she  informed  him  how  it 
happened  that  he  had  to  seek  her  at  Harrowby  Abbey, 
when  he  supposed  her  to  be  on  the  Wolds,  it  was  his  turn 
to  pity,  and  to  shudder  at  his  own  consanguinity  with 
Lord  Harwold. 

"Indeed,"  added  the  countess,  wishing  to  turn  from 
the  painful  subject,  "you  must  have  had  a  most  tedious 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  353 

journey  from  Harwold  Park  to  Harrowby,  and  nothing 
but  my  pleasure  could  exceed  my  astonishment  when  I 
met  you  last  night  on  the  hill." 

Thaddeus  sincerelv  declared  that  traveling  a  few  miles 
further  than  he  intended  was  no  fatigue  to  him;  yet, 
were  it  otherwise,  the  happiness  which  he  then  enjoyed 
would  have  acted  as  a  panacea  for  worse  ills,  could  he  have 
seen  her  looking  as  well  as  when  she  left  London. 

Lady  Tinemouth  smiled.  "You  are  right,  Sobieski. 
I  am  worse  than  when  I  was  in  town.  My  solitary  journey 
to  Harwold  oppressed  me;  and  when  my  son  sent  me 
orders  to  leave  it,  because  his  father  wanted  the  place  for 
the  autumnal  months,  his  capricious  cruelty  seemed  to 
augment  the  hectic  of  my  distress.  "Nevertheless,  I  im- 
mediately obeyed,  and  in  augmented  disorder,  arrived  here 
last  week.  But  how  kind  you  were  to  follow  me!  Who 
informed  you  of  the  place  of  my  destination — hardly  any 
of  Lady  Olivia's  household?" 

"No,"  returned  Thaddeus;  "I  luckily  had  the  precau- 
tion to  inquire  at  the  inn  on  the  Wolds  where  the  coach 
stopped,  what  part  of  Lord  Tinemouth's  family  were  at 
the  park;  and  when  I  heard  that  the  earl  himself  was 
there,  my  next  question  was,  'Where,  then,  was  the  count- 
ess?' The  landlord  very  civilly  told  me  of  your  having 
engaged  a  carriage  from  his  house  a  day  or  two  before,  to 
carry  you  to  one  of  his  lordship's  seats  within  a  few  miles 
of  Somerset  Castle.  Hence,  from  what  I  heard  you  say  of 
the  situation  of  Harrowby,  I  concluded  it  must  be  the 
abbey,  and  so  I  sought  you  at  a  venture." 

"And  I  hope  a  happy  issue,"  replied  she,  "will  arise 
from  your  wanderings !  This  rencounter  with  so  old  a 
friend  as  Mr.  Somerset  is  a  pleasing  omen.  For  my  part, 
I  was  ignorant  of  the  arrival  of  the  family  at  the  castle 
until  yesterday  morning,  and  then  I  sent  off  a  messenger 
to  apprise  my  dear  Miss  Beaufort  of  my  being  in  her 
neighborhood.  To  my  great  disappointment,  Lady  Shafto 
found  me  out  immediately;  and  when,  in  compliance  with 
her  importunate  invitation,  I  walked  down  to  an  early  din- 
ner with  her  yesterday,  little  did  I  expect  to  meet  the 
amiable  cousin  of  our  sweet  friend.  So  delightful  an  acci- 
dent has  amply  repaid  me  for  the  pain  I  endured  in  seeing 
Miss  Dundas  at  the  lodge;  an  insolent  and  reproachful 
letter  which  she  wrote  to  me  concerning  you  has  rendered 
her  an  object  of  my  aversion," 


g54  THABBEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Thaddeus  smiled  and  gently  bent  his  head.  "Since,  my 
dear  Lady  Tinemonth,  her  groundless  malice  and  Miss 
Euphemia's  folly  have  failed  in  estranging  either  your 
confidence  or  the  esteem  of  Miss  Beaufort  from  me,  I 
pardon  them  both.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  pity  them;  for  is 
it  not  difficult  to  pass  through  the  brilliant  snares  of 
•wealth  and  adulation  and  emerge  pure  as  when  we  entered 
them?  Unclouded  fortune  is,  indeed,  a  trial  of  spirits; 
and  how  brightly  does  Miss  Beaufort  rise  from  the  blaze! 
Surrounded  by  splendor,  homage,  and  indulgence,  she  is 
yet  all  nature,  gentleness,  and  virtue!" 

The  latter  part  of  this  burst  of  heart  he  uttered  rapidly, 
the  nerves  of  that  heart  beating  full  at  every  word. 

The  countess,  who  wished  to  appear  cheerful,  rallied 
him  on  the  warmth  of  his  expressions;  and  observing  that 
"the  day  was  fine,"  invited  him  to  walk  out  with  her 
through  the  romantic,  though  long-neglected,  domains  of 
the  abbey. 

Meanwhile,  the  family  at  Somerset  were  just  drawn 
round  the  breakfast-board,  when  they  were  agreeably  sur- 
prised by  the  sudden  entrance  of  Pembroke.  During  the 
repast  Miss  Beaufort  repeated  the  contents  of  the  note 
she  had  received  the  preceding  day  from  Lady  Tine- 
mouth,  and  requested  that  her  cousin  would  be  kind 
enough  to  drive  her  in  his  curricle  that  morning  to  Har- 
row by. 

"I  will,  with  pleasure,"  answered  he.  "I  have  seen 
her  ladyship,  and  even  supped  with  her  last  night." 

"How  came  that?"  asked  Miss  Dorothy. 

"I  shall  explain  it  to  my  father,  whenever  he  will  honor 
me  with  an  audience,"  returned  her  happy  nephew, 
addressing  the  baronet  with  all  the  joy  of  his  heart  look- 
ing out  at  his  eyes.  "Will  you  indulge  me,  dear  sir,  by 
half  an  hour's  attention?" 

"Certainly,"  replied  Sir  Robert;  "at  present  I  am  going 
into  my  study  to  settle  my  steward's  books,  but  the 
moment  I  have  finished,  I  will  send  for  you." 

Miss  Dorothy  walked  out  after  her  brother,  to  attend 
her  aviary,  and  Miss  Beaufort,  remaining  alone  with  her 
cousin,  made  some  inquiries  about  the  countess'  reasons 
for  coming  to  the  abbey.  "I  know  nothing  about  them," 
replied  he  gayly,  "for  she  went  to  bed  almost  the  instant 
I  entered  the  house.     Too  good    to   remain  where   he* 


THADDKUS  OF  WARSAW.  355 

company  was  not  wanted,  she  left  me  to  enjoy  a  most 
delightful  tete-a-tete  with  a  dear  friend,  from  whom  I 
parted  nearly  four  years  ago.  In  short,  we  sat  up  the 
whole  night  together,  talking  over  past  scenes — and  present 
ones  too,  for,  I  assure  you,  you  were  not  forgotten." 

"I!  what  had  I  to  do  with  it?"  replied  Mary,  smiling. 
"I  cannot  recollect  any  dear  friend  of  yours  whom  you 
have  not  seen  these  four  years." 

"Well,  that  is  strange!"  answered  Pembroke;  "he 
remembers  you  perfectly;  but,  true  to  your  sex,  you  affirm 
what  you  please,  though  I  know  there  is  not  a  man  in  the 
world  I  prefer  before  him." 

Miss  Beaufort  shook  her  head,  laughed,  and  sighed;  and 
withdrawing  her  hand  from  his,  threatened  to  leave  him 
if  he  would  not  be  serious. 

"I  am  serious,"  cried  he.  "Would  you  have  me  swear 
that  I  have  seen  him  whom  you  most  wish  to  see?" 

She  regarded  the  expression  of  his  countenance  with  a 
momentary  emotion;  taking  her  seat  again,  she  said, 
"You  can  have  seen  no  one  that  is  of  consequence  to  me; 
whoever  your  friend  may  be,  I  have  only  to  congratulate 
you  on  a  meeting  which  affords  you  so  much  delight." 

Pembroke  burst  into  a  joyous  laugh  at  her  composure. 

"So  cold!"  cried  he — "so  cautious!  Yet  I  verily  be- 
lieve you  would  participate  in  my  delight  were  I  to  tell 
you  who  he  is.  However,  you  are  such  a  skeptic,  that  I 
won't  hint  even  one  of  the  many  fine  things  he  said  of 
you." 

She  smiled  incredulously. 

"I  could  beat  you,  Mary,"  exclaimed  he,  "for  this 
oblique  way  of  saying  I  am  telling  lies!  But  I  will  have 
my  revenge  on  your  curiosity;  for  on  my  honor  I  declare," 
added  he  emphatically,  "that  last  night  I  met  with  a 
friend  at  Lady  Tinemouth's  who  four  years  ago  saved  my 
life,  who  entertained  me  several  weeks  in  his  house,  and 
who  has  seen  and  adores  you!  'Tis  true;  true,  on  my  exist- 
ence! And  what  is  more,  I  have  promised  that  you  will 
repay  these  weighty  obligations  by  the  free  gift  of  this 
dear  hand.     What  do  you  say  to  this,  my  sweet  Mary?" 

Miss  Beaufort  looked  anxious  at  the  serious  and  ener- 
getic manner  in  which  he  made  those  assertions;  even  the 
sportive  kiss  that  ended  the  question  did  not  dispel  th.9 
gravity  with  which  she  prepared  to  reply. 


356  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Pembroke,  perceiving  her  intent,  prevented  her  by  ex- 
claiming, "Cease,  Mary,  cease!  I  see  yon  are  going  to 
make  a  false  statement.  Let  truth  prevail,  and  you  will 
not  deny  that  I  am  suing  for  a  plighted  faith?  You  will 
not  deny  who  it  was  that  softened  and  subdued  your  heart? 
You  cannot  conceal  from  me  that  the  wanderer  Constan- 
tine  possesses  your  affections?" 

Amazed  at  so  extraordinary  a  charge  from  her  hitherto 
always  respectful  as  well  as  fraternally  affectionate  cousin, 
she  reddened  with  pain  and  displeasure.  Rising  from  her 
seat,  and  averting  her  tearful  eyes,  she  said,  "I  did  not 
expect  this  cruel,  this  ungenerous  speech  from  you,  Pem- 
broke! What  have  I  done  to  deserve  so  rude,  so  unfeeling 
a  reproach?" 

Pembroke  threw  his  arm  round  her.  "Come,"  said  he, 
in  a  sportive  voice;  "don't  be  tragical.  I  never  meant  to 
reproach  you,  Mary.  I  dare  say  if  you  gave  your  heart,  it 
was  only  in  return  for  his.  I  know  you  are  a  grateful  girl ; 
and  I  verily  believe  you  won't  find  much  difference  be- 
tween my  friend  the  young  Count  Sobieskiand  the  forlorn 
Constantine." 

A  suspicion  of  the  truth  flashed  across  Miss  Beaufort's 
mind.  Unable  to  speak,  she  caught  hold  of  her  cousin's 
hands,  and  looking  eagerly  in  his  face,  her  eyes  declared 
the  question  she  would  have  asked. 

Pembroke  laughed  triumphantly.  A  servant  entering 
to  tell  him  that  Sir  Robert  was  ready,  he  strained  her  to 
his  breast  and  exclaimed,  "Now  lam  revenged!  Fare- 
well !  I  leave  you  to  all  the  pangs  of  doubt  and  curiosity !" 
He  then  flew  out  of  the  room  with  an  arch  glance  at  her 
agitated  countenance,  and  hurried  upstairs. 

She  clasped  her  trembling  hands  together  as  the  door 
closed  on  him.  "Oh,  gracious  Providence!"  cried  she, 
"what  am  I  to  understand  by  this  mystery,  this  joy  of  my 
cousin's?  Can  it  be  possible  that  the  illustrious  Sobieski 
and  my  contemned  Constantine  are  the  same  person?" 
A  burning  blush  overspread  her  face  at  the  expression  my 
which  had  escaped  her  lips. 

While  the  graces,  the  sweetness,  the  dignity  of  Thad- 
deus  had  captivated  her  notice,  his  sufferings,  his  virtues, 
and  the  mysterious  interests  which  involved  his  history, 
in  like  manner  had  fixed  her  attention  and  awakened  her 
esteem.     From  these  grounds  the  step  is  short  to  love. 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  357 

"When  the  mind  is  conquered,  the  heart  surrenders  at 
discretion."  But  she  knew  not  that  she  had  advanced 
too  far  to  retreat,  until  the  last  scene  at  Dundas  House, 
by  forcing  her  to  defend  Constantine  against  the  charge 
of  loving  her,  made  her  confess  to  herself  how  much  she 
wished  the  charge  were  true. 

Poor  and  lowly  as  he  seemed,  she  found  that  her  whole 
heart  and  life  were  wrapped  in  his  remembrance;  that 
his  worshiped  idea  was  her  solace;  her  most  precious 
property  the  dear  treasure  of  her  secret  and  sweetest 
felicity.  It  was  the  companion  of  her  walks,  the  monitor 
of  her  actions.  Whenever  she  planned,  whenever  she 
executed,  she  asked  herself,  how  would  Constantine  con- 
sider this?  and  accordingly  did  she  approve  or  condemn 
her  conduct,  for  she  had  heard  enough  from  Mrs.  Robson 
to  convince  her  that  piety  was  the  sure  fountain  of  his 
virtues. 

When  she  had  left  London,  and  so  far  separated  from 
this  idol  of  her  memory,  such  was  the  impression  he  had 
stamped  on  her  heart;  he  seemed  ever  present.  The 
shade  of  Laura  visited  the  solitude  of  Vaucluse;  the  image 
of  Constantine  haunted  the  walks  of  Somerset.  The  love- 
liness of  nature,  its  leafy  groves  and  verdant  meadows,  its 
blooming  mornings  and  luxuriant  sunsets,  the  romantic 
shadows  of  twilight  or  the  soft  glories  of  the  moon  and 
stars,  as  they  pressed  beauty  and  sentiment  upon  her 
heart,  awoke  it  to  the  remembrance  of  Constantine;  she 
saw  his  image,  she  felt  his  soul,  in  every  object.  Subtile 
and  indefinable  is  that  ethereal  chord  which  unites  our 
tenderest  thoughts  with  their  chain  of  association ! 

Before  this  conversation  in  which  Pembroke  men- 
tioned the  name  of  Constantine  with  so  much  badinage 
and  apparent  familiarity,  he  had  never  heard  him  spoken  of 
by  Mary  or  his  aunt  without  declaring  a  displeasure  nearly 
amounting  to  anger.  Hence,  when  she  considered  his 
now  so  strangely  altered  tone,  Miss  Beaufort  necessarily 
concluded  that  he  had  seen,  in  the  person  of  him  she 
most  valued,  the  man  whose  public  character  she  had  often 
heard  him  admire,  and  who,  she  now  doubted  not,  had  at 
some  former  period  given  him  some  private  reason  for 
calling  him  his  friend.  Before  this  time,  she  more  than 
once  had  suspected,  from  the  opinions  which  Somerset 
occasionally   repeated    respecting  the  alfairs  of    Poland, 


358  THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW. 

that  he  conld  only  have  acquired  so  accurate  a  knowledge 
of  its  events  by  having  visited  the  country  itself.  She 
mentiond  her  suspicion  to  Mr.  Loftus:  he  denied  the  fact; 
and  she  had  thought  no  more  on  the  subject  until  the 
present  ambiguous  hints  of  her  cousin  conjured  up  these 
doubts  anew,  and  led  her  to  suppose  that  if  Pembroke 
had  not  disobeyed  his  father  so  far  as  to  go  to  Warsaw, 
he  must  have  met  with  the  Count  Sobieski  in  some  other 
realm.  The  possibility  that  this  young  hero,  of  whom 
fame  spoke  so  loudly,  might  be  the  mysterious  Constan- 
tine,  bewildered  and  delighted  her.  The  more  she  com- 
pared what  she  had  heard  of  the  one  with  what  she  had 
witnessed  in  the  other,  the  more  was  she  reconciled  to  the 
probability  of  her  ardent  hope.  Besides,  she  could  not 
for  a  moment  retain  a  belief  that  her  cousin  would  so 
cruelly  sport  with  her  delicacy  and  peace  as  to  excite 
expectations  that  he  could  not  fulfill. 

Agitated  by  a  suspense  which  bordered  on  agony,  with 
a  beating  heart  she  heard  his  quick  step  descending  the 
stairs.  The  door  opened,  and  Pembroke,  flying  into  the 
room,  caught  up  his  hat.  As  he  was  darting  away  again, 
unable  to  restrain  her  impatience,  Miss  Beaufort  with  an 
imploring  voice  ejaculated  his  name.  He  turned  and  dis- 
played on  her  amazed  sight  a  countenance  in  which  no 
vestige  of  his  former  animation  could  be  traced.  His 
cheek  was  flushed,  and  his  eyes  shot  a  wild  fire  that  struck 
to  her  heart.  Unconscious  what  she  did,  she  ran  up  to 
him;  but  Pembroke  pushing  her  back,  exclaimed,  "Don't 
ask  me  any  questions,  if  you  would  not  drive  me  to  mad- 
ness." 

"Oh,  Heaven!"  cried  she,  catching  his  arm,  and  cling- 
ing to  him,  while  the  eagerness  of  his  motion  dragged  her 
into  the  hall.  "Tell  me!  Has  anything  happened  to  my 
guardian — to  your  friend — to  Constantine?" 

"No,"  replied  he,  looking  at  her  with  a  face  full  of 
desperation;  "but  my  father  commands  me  to  treat  him 
like  a  villain." 

She  could  hardly  credit  her  senses  at  this  confirmation 
that  Constantine  and  Sobieski  were  one.  Turning  giddy 
with  the  tumultuous  delight  that  rushed  over  her  soul, 
she  staggered  back  a  few  paces,  and  leaning  against  the 
open  door,  tried  to  recover  breath  to  regain  the  room  she 
had  left. 


THADDBUS  OF  WARSAW.  359 

Pembroke,  having  escaped  from  her  grasp,  ran  furiously 
down  the  hill,  mounted  his  horse,  and  forbidding  any 
groom  to  attend  him,  galloped  toward  the  high-road  with 
the  impetuosity  of  a  madman.  All  the  powers  of  his 
soul  were  in  arms.  Wounded,  dishonored,  stigmatized 
with  ingratitude  and  baseness,  he  believed  himself  to  be 
the  most  degraded  of  men. 

It  appeared  that  Sir  Robert  Somerset  had  long  cherished 
a  hatred  to  the  Poles,  in  consequence  of  some  injury  he 
affirmed  he  had  received  in  early  youth  from  one  of  that 
nation.  In  this  instance  his  dislike  was  implacable;  and 
when  his  son  set  out  for  the  continent,  he  positively  for- 
bade him  to  enter  Poland.  Notwithstanding  his  remem- 
brance of  this  violated  injunction,  when  Pembroke  joined 
the  baronet  in  his  library,  he  did  it  with  confidence.  With 
a  bounding  heart  and  animated  countenance,  he  recapitu- 
lated how  he  had  been  wrought  upon  by  his  young  Russian 
friends  to  take  up  arms  in  their  cause  and  march  into 
Poland.  At  these  last  words  his  father  turned  pale,  and 
though  he  did  not  speak,  the  denunciation  was  on  his 
brow. 

Pembroke,  who  expected  some  marks  of  displeasure, 
hastened  to  obliterate  his  disobedience  by  narrating  the 
event  which  had  introduced  not  only  the  young  Count 
Sobieski  to  his  succor,  but  the  consequent  friendship  of 
the  whole  of  that  princely  family. 

Sir  Robert  still  made  no  verbal  reply,  but  his  counte- 
nance deepened  in  gloom;  and  when  Pembroke,  with  all 
the  pathos  of  a  deep  regret,  attempted  to  describe  the 
death  of  the  palatine,  the  horrors  which  attended  the  last 
hours  of  the  countess,  and  the  succeeding  misery  of  Thad- 
deus,  who  was  now  in  England,  no  language  can  paint  the 
frenzy  which  burst  at  once  from  the  baronet.  He  stamped 
on  the  ground,  he  covered  his  face  with  his  clinched 
hands;  then  turning  on  his  son  with  a  countenance  no 
longer  recognizable,  he  exclaimed  with  fury,  "Pembroke! 
you  have  outraged  my  commands!  Never  will  I  pardon 
you  if  that  young  man  ever  blasts  me  with  his  sight." 

"Merciful  Heaven!"  cried  Pembroke,  thunderstruck  at 
a  violence  which  he  almost  wished  might  proceed  from 
real  madness:  "surely  something  has  agitated  my  father! 
What  can  this  mean?" 

Sir  Robert  shook  his  head,   while  his   teeth  ground 


3C0  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

against  each  other.  "Don't  mistake  me,"  replied  he,  in 
a  firm  voice.  "I  am  perfectly  in  my  senses.  It  depends 
on  you  that  I  continue  so.  You  know  my  oath  against  all 
of. that  nation!  and,  I  repeat  again,  if  you  ever  bring  that 
young  man  into  my  presence,  you  shall  never  see  me 
more." 

A  cold  dew  overspread  the  body  of  Pembroke.  He 
would  have  caught  his  father's  hand,  but  he  held  it  back. 
"Oh,  sir,"  said  he,  "you  surely  cannot  intend  that  I  shall 
treat  with  ingratitude  the  man  who  saved  my  life?" 

Sir  Robert  did  not  vouchsafe  him  an  answer,  but  con- 
tinued walking  up  and  down  the  room,  until,  his  hesita- 
tion increasing  at  every  step,  he  opened  the  door  of  an 
interior  apartment  and  retired,  bidding  his  son  remain 
where  he  left  him. 

The  horror-struck  Pembroke  waited  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  before  his  father  reentered.  When  he  did  appear, 
the  deep  gloom  of  his  eye  gave  no  encouragement  to  his 
son,  who,  hanging  down  his  head,  recoiled  from  speaking 
first.  Sir  Robert  approached  with  a  composed  but  severe 
countenance,  and  said,  "I  have  been  seeking  every  pallia- 
tion that  your  conduct  might  admit,  but  I  can  find  none. 
Before  you  quitted  England,  you  knew  well  my  abhorrence 
of  Poland.  One  of  that  country  many  years  ago  wounded 
my  happiness  in  a  way  I  shall  never  recover.  From  that 
hour  I  took  an  oath  never  to  enter  its  borders,  and  never 
to  suffer  one  of  its  people  to  come  within  my  doors.  Rash, 
disobedient  boy!  You  know  my  disposition,  and  you  have 
seen  the  emotion  with  which  this  dilemma  has  shaken  my 
soul!  But  be  it  on  your  own  head  that  you  have  incurred 
obligations  which  I  cannot  repay.  I  will  not  perjure  my- 
self to  defray  a  debt  contracted  against  my  positive  and 
declared  principles.  I  never  will  see  this  Polander  you 
speak  of;  and  it  is  my  express  command,  on  pain  of  my 
eternal  malediction,  that  you  break  with  him  entirely." 

Pembroke  fell  into  a  seat.     Sir  Robert  proceeded. 

"I  pity  your  distress,  but  my  resolution  cannot  be 
shaken.  Oaths  are  not  to  be  broken  with  impunity. 
You  must  either  resign  him  or  resign  me.  We  may  com- 
promise your  debt  of  gratitude.  I  will  give  you  deeds  to 
put  your  friend  in  possession  of  five  hundred  pounds  a 
year  for  life  forever;  nay,  I  would  even  double  it  to  give 
you  satisfaction;  but  from  the  hour  in  which  you  tell  him 
go,  you  must  see  him  no  more." 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  361 

Sir  Robert  was  quitting  the  room,  when  Pembroke, 
starting  from  his  chair,  threw  himself  in  agony  on  his 
knees,  and  catching  by  the  skirt  of  his  father's  coat,  im- 
plored him  for  God's  sake  to  recall  his  words;  to  remember 
that  he  was  affixing  everlasting  dishonor  on  his  son. 
"Remember,  dear  sir!"  cried  he,  holding  his  struggling 
hand,  "that  the  man  to  whom  you  offer  money  as  a  com- 
pensation for  insult  is  of  a  nature  too  noble  to  receive  it. 
He  will  reject  it,  and  spurn  me;  and  I  shall  know  that  I 
deserve  his  scorn.  For  mercy's  sake,  spare  me  the  agony 
of  harrowing  up  the  heart  of  my  preserver — of  meeting 
reproach  from  his  eyes!" 

"Leave  me!"  cried  the  baronet,  breaking  from  him; 
"I  repeat,  unless  you  wish  to  incur  my  curse,  do  as  I  have 
commanded." 

Thus  outraged,  thus  agonized,  Pembroke  had  appeared 
before  the  eyes  of  his  Cousin  Mary  more  like  a  distracted 
creature  than  a  man  possessed  of  his  senses.  Shortly  after 
his  abrupt  departure,  her  apprehension  was  petrified  to  a 
dreadful  certainty  of  some  cruel  ruin  to  her  hopes,  by  an 
order  she  received  in  the  handwriting  of  her  uncle,  com- 
manding her  not  to  attempt  visiting  Lady  Tinemouth 
while  the  Count  Sobieski  continued  to  be  her  guest,  and 
under  peril  of  his  displeasure  never  to  allow  that  name  to 
pass  her  lips. 

Hardly  knowing  whither  he  went,  Pembroke  did  not 
arrive  at  the  ruined  aisle  which  leads  to  the  habitable  part 
of  the  abbey  until  near  three  o'clock.  He#inquired  of 
the  groom  that  tooK  his  horse  whether  the  countess  and 
Mr.  Constantine  were  at  home.  The  man  replied  in  the 
affirmative,  but  added,  with  a  sad  countenance,  he  feared 
neither  of  them  could  be  seen. 

"For  what  reason?"  demanded  Somerset. 

"Alas!  sir,"  replied  the  servant,  "about  an  hour  ago 
my  lady  was  seized  with  a  violent  fit  of  coughing,  which 
ended  in  the  rupture  of  a  blood-vessel.  It  continued  to 
flow  so  long  that  Mr.  Constantine  told  the  apothecary, 
whom  he  had  summoned,  to  send  for  a  physician.  The 
doctor  is  not  yet  arrived,  and  Mr.  Constantine  won't  leave 
my  lady." 

Though  Mr.  Somerset  was  truly  concerned  at  the  illness 
of  the  countess,  the  respite  it  afforded  him  from  imme- 
diately declaring  the  ungrateful  message  of  Sir  Robert 


3G2  THADDEUS  OP  WARSA  W. 

gave  him  no  inconsiderable  degree  of  ease.  Somewhat 
relieved  by  the  hope  of  being  for  one  day  spared  the 
anguish  of  displaying  his  father  in  a  disgraceful  light,  he 
entered  the  abbey,  and  desired  that  a  maid-servant  might 
be  sent  to  her  ladyship's  room  to  inform  his  friend  that 
Mr.  Somerset  was  below. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  girl  returned  with  the  following 
lines  on  a  slip  of  paper: 

"To  Pembroke  Somerset,  Esq. 

"I  am  grieved  that  I  cannot  see  my  dear  Somerset  to- 
day! I  fear  my  revered  friend  is  on  her  death-bed.  I 
have  sent  for  Dr.  Cavendish,  who  is  now  at  Stanford; 
doubtless  you  know  he  is  a  man  of  the  first  abilities.  If 
human  skill  can  preserve  her,  I  may  yet  have  hopes;  but 
her  disorder  is  on  the  lungs  and  in  the  heart,  and  I  fear 
the  stroke  is  sure.  I  am  now  sitting  by  her  bedside,  and 
writing  what  she  dictates  to  her  husband,  her  son,  and 
her  daughter.  Painful,  you  may  believe,  is  the  task!  I 
cannot,  my  dear  Somerset,  add  more  than  my  hope  of 
seeing  you  soon,  and  that  you  will  join  in  prayers  to 
Heaven  for  the  restoration  of  my  inestimable  friend,  with 
your  faithful  and  affectionate  Sobieski." 

"Alas!  unhappy,  persecuted  Sobieski!"  thought  Pem- 
broke, as  he  closed  the  paper;  "to  what  art  thou  doomed! 
Some  friends  are  torn  from  thee  by  death ;  others  desert 
thee  in  the  hour  of  trouble." 

He  took  out  his  pencil  to  answer  this  distressing  epistle, 
but  he  stopped  at  the  first  word;  he  durst  not  write  that 
his  father  would  fulfill  any  one  of  those  engagements 
which  he  had  so  largely  promised;  and  throwing  away  the 
pencil  and  the  paper,  he  left  a  verbal  declaration  of  his 
sorrow  at  what  had  happened,  and  an  assurance  of  calling 
next  day.  Turning  his  back  on  a  house  which  he  had 
left  on  the  preceding  night  with  so  many  joyful  hopes,  he 
remounted  his  horse,  and,  melancholy  and  slow,  rode  about 
the  country  until  evening — so  unwilling  was  he  to  return 
to  that  home  which  now  threatened  him  with  the  frowns 
of  his  father,  the  tears  of  Mary  Beaufort,  and  the  miserable 
reflections  of  his  own  wretched  heart. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  363 

CHAPTEK  XLI. 

. 

THE    MATERNAL  HEART. 

Dr.  Cavendish,  having  been  detained  beyond  his 
expected  time  with  his  invalid  friend  at  Stanford,  was 
happily  still  there,  and  set  off  for  Harrowby  the  instant 
Mr.  Constantine's  messenger  arrived,  and  before  midnight 
alighted  at  the  abbey. 

When  he  entered  Lady  Tinemouth's  chamber  he  fonnd 
her  supported  in  the  arms  of  Thaddens,  and  struggling 
with  a  second  rupture  of  her  lungs.  As  he  approached 
the  bed,  Thaddeus  turned  his  eyes  on  him  with  an  expres- 
sion that  powerfully  told  his  fears.  Dr.  Cavendish  silently 
pressed  his  hand;  then  taking  from  his  pocket  some 
styptic  drops,  he  made  the  countess  swallow  them,  and 
soon  saw  that  they  succeeded  in  stopping  the  hemorrhage. 

Thaddeus  and  her  physician  remained  by  the  side  of 
the  patient  sufferer  until  ten  in  the  morning,  when  she 
sank  into  a  gentle  sleep.  Complete  stillness  being  neces- 
sary to  continue  this  repose,  the  good  doctor  proposed 
leaving  the  maid  to  watch  by  her  ladyship,  and  drawing 
the  count  out  of  the  room,  descended  the  stairs. 

Mr.  Somerset  had  been  arrived  half  an  hour,  and  met 
them  in  the  breakfast-parlor.  After  a  few  kind  words 
exchanged  between  the  parties,  they  sat  down  with  dejected 
countenances  to  their  melancholy  meal.  Thaddeus  was 
too  much  absorbed  in  the  scene  he  had  left  to  take  any- 
thing but  a  dish  of  coffee. 

"Do  you  think  Lady  Tinemouth  is  in  imminent  danger?" 
inquired  Pembroke  of  the  doctor. 

Dr.  Cavendish  sighed,  and  turning  to  Thaddeus,  directed 
to  him  the  answer  which  his  friend's  question  demanded. 
"I  am  afraid,  my  dear  Mr.  Constantine,"  said  he,  in  a 
reluctant  voice,  "that  you  are  to  sustain  anew  trial!  I 
fear  she  cannot  live  forty-eight  hours." 

Thaddeus  cast  down  his  eyes  and  shuddered,  but  made 
no  reply.  Further  remarks  were  prevented  by  a  mes- 
senger from  the  countess,  who  desired  Mr.  Constantine's 
immediate  attendance  at  her  bedside.  He  obeyed.  In 
half  an  hour  he  returned,  with  the  mark  of  tears  upon  his 
cheek. 


364  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W, 

"Dearest  Thaddeus!"  cried  Pembroke,  "I  trust  the 
countess  is  not  worse?  This  threatened  new  bereavement 
is  too  much:  it  afflicts  my  very  heart."  Indeed  it  rent 
it;  for  Pembroke  could  not  help  internally  acknowledging 
that  when  Sobieski  should  close  the  eyes  of  Lady  Tine- 
mouth,  he  would  be  paying  the  last  sad  office  to  his  last 
friend.  That  dear  distinction  he  durst  no  longer  arrogate 
to  himself.  Denied  the  fulfillment  of  its  duties,  he  thought 
that  to  retain  the  title  would  be  an  assumption  without 
a  right. 

Thaddeus  drew  his  hand  over  his  again  filling  eyes. 
"The  countess  herself,"  said  he,  "feels  the  truth  of  what 
Dr.  Cavendish  told  us.  She  sent  for  me,  and  begged  me, 
as  I  loved  her,  or  would  wish  to  see  her  die  in  peace,  to 
devise  some  means  for  bringing  her  daughter  to  the  abbey 
to-night.  As  for  Lord  Harwold,  she  says  his  behavior 
since  he  arrived  at  manhood  has  been  of  a  nature  so  cruel 
and  unnatural  that  she  would  not  draw  on  herself  the 
misery,  nor  on  him  the  added  guilt,  of  a  refusal ;  but  with 
regard  to  Lady  Albina,  who  has  been  no  sharer  in  those 
barbarities,  she  trusts  a  daughter's  heart  might  be  pre- 
vailed on  to  seek  a  last  embrace  from  a  dying  parent.  It 
is  this  request,"  continued  he,  "that  agitates  me.  When 
she  pictured  to  me,  with  all  the  fervor  of  a  mother,  her 
doting  fondness  for  this  daughter  (on  whom,  whenever 
she  did  venture  to  hope,  all  those  hopes  rested);  when 
she  wrung  my  hand,  and  besought  me,  as  if  I  had  been 
the  sole  disposer  of  her  fate,  to  let  her  see  her  child  before 
she  died,  I  could  only  promise  every  exertion  to  effect  it, 
and  with  an  aching  heart  I  came  to  consult  you." 

Dr.  Cavendish  was  opening  his  lips  to  speak,  but  Som- 
erset, in  his  eagerness  to  relieve  his  friend,  did  not  per- 
ceive it,  and  immediately  answered,  "This  very  hour  I 
will  undertake  what  you  have  promised.  I  know  Lord 
Tmemouth's  family  are  now  at  the  Wolds.  It  is  only 
thirty  miles  distant;  I  will  send  a  servant  to  have  relays 
of  horses  ready.  My  curricle,  which  is  now  at  the  door, 
will  be  more  convenient  than  a  chaise;  and  I  will  engage 
to  be  back  before  to-morrow  morning.  Wrrite  a  letter, 
Thaddeus,"  added  he,  "to  Lady  Albina;  tell  her  of  her 
mother's  situation;  and  though  I  have  never  seen  the; 
young  lady,  I  will  give  it  into  her  own  hand,  and  then 
bring  her  off,  even  were  it  in  the  face  of  her  villainous 
father." 


7HADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  365 

The  pale  cheeks  of  Sobieski  flushed  with  a  conscious 
scarlet.  Turning  to  Dr.  Cavendish,  he  requested  him,  as 
the  most  proper  person,  to  write  to  Lady  Albina,  while  he 
would  walk  out  with  his  friend  to  order  the  carriage. 
Pembroke  was  thanked  for  his  zeal,  but  it  was  not  by 
words;  they  are  too  weak  vehicles  to  convey  strong  im- 
pressions. Thaddeus  pressed  his  hand,  and  accompanied 
the  action  with  a  look  which  spoke  volumes.  The  withered 
heart  of  Pembroke  expanded  under  the  animated  gratitude 
of  his  friend.  Eeceiving  the  letter,  he  sprang  into  his 
seat,  and,  until  he  lost  sight  of  Harrowby  Hill,  forgot  how 
soon  he  must  appear  to  that  friend  the  most  ungrateful  of 
men. 

It  was  near  six  in  the  evening  before  Mr.  Somerset  left 
his  curricle  at  the  little  inn  which  skirts  the  village  of  Har- 
thorpe.  He  affected  to  make  some  inquiries  respecting  the 
families  in  the  neighborhood;  and  his  host  informed  him 
that  the  ladies  of  the  earl's  family  were  great  walkers, 
passing  almost  the  whole  of  the  day  in  the  grounds.  The 
measures  to  be  adopted  were  now  obvious.  The  paling 
belonging  to  Lord  Tinemouth's  park  was  only  a  few  yards 
distant;  but  fearful  of  being  observed,  Pembroke  sought 
a  more  obscure  part.  Scaling  a  wall  which  was  covered 
by  the  branches  of  high  trees,  he  found  his  way  to  the 
house  through  an  almost  impassable  thicket. 

He  watched  nearly  an  hour  in  vain  for  the  appearance 
of  Lady  Albina,  whose  youth  and  elegance,  he  thought, 
would  unequivocally  distinguish  her  from  the  rest  of  the 
earl's  household.  Despairing  of  success,  he  was  preparing 
to  change  his  station,  when  he  heard  a  sound  among  the 
dry  leaves,  and  the  next  moment  a  beautiful  young  crea- 
ture passed  the  bush  behind  which  he  was  concealed.  The 
fine  symmetry  of  her  profile  assured  him  that  she  must  be 
the  daughter  of  Lady  Tinemouth.  She  stooped  to  gather 
a  china- aster.  Knowing  that  no  time  should  be  lost, 
Pembroke  gently  emerged  from  his  recess,  but  not  in  so 
quiet  a  manner  as  to  escape  the  ear  of  Lady  Albina,  who 
instantly  looking  round,  screamed,  and  would  have  fled, 
had  he  not  thrown  himself  before  her,  and  exclaimed, 
"Stay,  Lady  Albina!  For  Heaven's  sake,  stay!  I  come 
from  your  mother!" 

She  gazed  fearfully  in  his  face,  and  tried  to  release  her 
hand,  which  he  had  seized  to  prevent  her  flight. 


366  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,"  continued  he;  "no  harm  is  in- 
tended you.  I  am  the  son  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  and 
the  friend  of  your  mother,  who  is  now  at  the  point  of 
death.  She  implores  to  see  you  this  night  (for  she  has 
hardly  an  hour  to  live),  to  hear  from  your  own  lips  that 
you  do  not  hate  her." 

Lady  Albina  trembled  dreadfully,  and  with  faded  cheeks 
and  quivering  lips  replied,  "Hate  my  mother!  Oh,  no!  I 
have  ever  dearly  loved  her!" 

A  flood  of  tears  prevented  her  speaking  further;  and 
Pembroke,  perceiving  that  he  had  gained  her  confidence, 
put  the  doctor's  letter  into  her  hand.  The  gentle  heart 
of  Lady  Albina  bled  at  every  word  which  her  almost 
blinded  eyes  perused.  Turning  to  Pembroke,  who  stood 
contemplating  her  lovely  countenance  with  the  deepest 
interest,  she  said,  "Pray,  Mr.  Somerset,  take  me  now  to 
my  mother.  Were  she  to  die  before  I  arrived,  I  should 
be  miserable  for  life.  Alas!  alas!  I  have  never  been 
allowed  to  behold  her — never  been  allowed  to  visit  Lon- 
don, because  my  father  knew  that  I  believed  my  poor 
mother  innocent,  and  would  have  seen  her,  had  it  been 
possible." 

Lady  Albina  wept  violently  while  she  spoke,  and  giving 
her  hand  to  Pembroke,  timidly  looked  toward  the  house, 
and  added,  "You  must  take  me  this  instant.  We  must 
hasten  away,  in  case  we  should  be  surprised.  If  Lady 
Olivia  were  to  know  that  I  have  been  speaking  with  any- 
body out  of  the  family,  I  should  be  locked  up  for  months.'* 

Pembroke  did  not  require  a  second  command  from  hiu 
beautiful  charge.  Conducting  her  through  the  infre- 
quented  paths  by  which  he  had  entered,  he  seated  her  m 
his  curricle,  and  whipping  his  horses,  set  off,  full  speed, 
toward  the  melancholy  goal  of  his  enterprise. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

HARROWT     ABBEY. 


While  the  two  anxious  travelers  were  pursuing  their 
sad  journey,  the  inhabitants  of  the  abbey  were  distracted 
with  apprehension  lest  the  countess  might  expire  before 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  367 

their  arrival.  Ever  since  Lady  Tinemouth  received  in- 
formation that  Mr.  Somerset  was  gone  to  the  Wolds,  hope 
and  fear  agitated  her  by  turns,  till,  wearied  out  with  solici- 
tude and  expectation,  she  turned  her  dim  eyes  upon  Thad- 
deus,  and  said,  in  a  languid  voice,  "My  dear  friend,  it  must 
be  near  midnight.  I  shall  never  see  the  morning;  I  shall 
never  in  this  world  see  my  child.  I  pray  you,  thank  Mr. 
Somerset  for  all  the  trouble  I  have  occasioned;  and  my 
daughter — my  Albina!  Oh,  Father  of  mercies!"  cried 
she,  holding  up  her  clasped  hands,  "pour  all  thy  blessings 
upon  her  head!  She  never  willfully  gave  this  broken 
heart  a  pang!" 

The  countess  had  hardly  ended  speaking  when  Thaddeus 
heard  a  bustle  on  the  stairs.  Suspecting  that  it  might  be 
the  arrival  of  his  friend,  he  made  a  sign  to  Dr.  Cavendish 
to  go  and  inquire.  His  heart  beat  violently  while  he  kept 
his  eye  fixed  on  the  door,  and  held  the  feeble  pulse  of 
Lady  Tinemouth  in  his  hand.  The  doctor  reentered,  and 
in  a  low  voice  whispered,  "Lady  Albina  is  here." 

The  Avords  acted  like  magic  on  the  fading  senses  of  the 
countess.  With  preternatural  strength  she  started  from 
her  pillow,  and  catching  hold  of  Sobieski's  arm  with  both 
her  hands,  cried,  "Oh,  give  her  to  me  while  I  have  life." 

Lady  Albina  appeared,  led  in  by  Pembroke,  but  in- 
stantly quitting  his  hand,  with  an  agonizing  shriek  she 
rushed  toward  the  bed  and  flung  herself  into  the  extended 
arms  of  her  mother.  Those  arms  closed  on  her,  and  the 
head  of  the  countess  rested  on  her  bosom. 

Dr.  Cavendish  perceived  by  the  struggles  of  the  young 
lady  that  she  was  in  convulsions;  and  taking  her  off  th# 
bed,  he  consigned  her  to  Pembroke  and  his  friend,  who* 
between  them,  carried  her  into  another  apartment.     Ht 
remained  to  assist  the  countess. 

Albina  was  removed ;  but  the  eyes  of  her  amiable  and 
injured  mother  were  never  again  unclosed:  she  had 
breathed  her  last  sigh,  in  grateful  ecstasy,  on  the  bosom 
of  her  daughter;  and  Heaven  had  taken  her  spotless  soul 
to  himself. 

Being  convinced  that  the  countess  was  indeed  no  more, 
the  goed  doctor  left  her  remains  in  charge  of  the  women; 
and  repairing  to  the  adjoining  room,  found  Lady  Albina 
yet  senseless  in  the  arms  of  his  two  friends.  She  was  laid 
on  a  sofa,  and  Cavendish  was  pouring  some  drops  into  her 


368  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

mouth,  when  he  descried  Thaddeus  gliding  out  of  the 
room.  Desirous  to  spare  him  the  shock  of  suddenly  seeing 
the  corpse  of  one  whom  he  loved  so  truly,  he  said,  "Stop, 
Mr.  Constantine!  I  conjure  you,  do  not  go  into  the 
countess'  room!" 

The  eyes  of  Thaddeus  turned  with  emotion  on  the  dis- 
tressed face  of  the  physician;  one  glance  explained  what 
the  doctor  durst  not  speak.  Faintly  answering,  "I  will 
obey  you,"  he  hurried  from  the  apartment. 

In  the  count's  silent  descent  from  Lady  Albina's  room 
to  the  breakfast-parlor,  he  too  plainly  perceived  by  the 
tears  of  the  servants  that  he  had  now  another  sorrow  to  add 
to  his  mournful  list.  He  hastened  from  participation  in 
their  clamorous  laments,  almost  unseen,  into  the  parlor, 
and  shutting  the  door,  threw  himself  into  a  chair;  but 
rest  induced  thought,  and  thought  subdued  his  soul.  He 
started  from  his  position ;  he  paced  the  room  in  a  parox- 
ysm of  anguish;  he  would  have  given  worlds  for  one  tear 
to  relieve  his  oppressed  heart.  Eeady  to  suffocate,  he 
threw  open  a  window  and  leaned  out.  Not  a  star  was 
visible  to  light  the  darkness.  The  wind  blew  freshly,  and 
with  parched  lips  he  inhaled  it  as  the  reviving  breath  of 
heaven. 

He  was  sitting  on  the  window-seat,  with  his  head  lean- 
ing against  the  casement,  when  Pembroke  entered  unob- 
served; walking  up  to  him,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
arm,  and  ejaculated  in  a  tremulous  voice,  "Thaddeus, 
dear  Thaddeus!" 

Thaddeus  rose  at  the  well-known  sounds:  they  reminded 
him  that  he  was  not  yet  alone  in  the  world;  for  his  soul 
had  been  full  of  the  dying  image  of  his  own  mother. 
Clasping  Somerset  in  his  arms,  he  exclaimed,  "Heaven 
has  still  reserved  thee,  faithful  and  beloved,  to  be  my 
comforter!  In  thy  friendship  and  fond  memories,"  he 
added,  with  a  yet  heaving  breast,  "I  shall  find  tender 
bonds  of  the  past  still  to  endear  me  to  this  world." 

Pembroke  received  the  embrace  of  his  friend;  he  felt 
his  tears  upon  his  cheek;  but  he  could  neither  return  the 
one  nor  sympathize  with  the  other.  The  conviction  that 
he  was  soon  to  sever  that  cord,  that  he  was  to  deprive  the 
man  who  had  preserved  his  life  of  the  only  stay  of  his  ex- 
istence, and  abandon  him  to  despair,  struck  to  his  soul. 
Grasping  the  hand  of  his  friend,  he  gazed  on  his  averted 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSAW  369 

and  dejected  features  with  a  look  of  desperate  horror. 
"Sobieski,"  cried  he,  "whatever  may  happen,  never  for- 
get that  I  swear  I  love  you  dearer  than  my  life!  And 
when  I  am  forced  to  abandon  my  friend,  I  shall  not  be 
long  of  abandoning  what  will  then  be  worthless  to  me." 

Not  perceiviug  the  frenzied  look  which  accompanied 
this  energetic  declaration,  Thaddeus  gave  no  other  mean- 
ing to  the  words  than  a  renewed  assurance  of  his  friend's 
affection. 

The  entrance  of  Dr.  Cavendish  disturbed  the  two  young 
men,  to  whom  he  communicated  the  increased  indisposi- 
tion of  Lady  Albina. 

"The  shock  she  has  received,"  said  he,  "has  so  materi- 
ally shaken  her  frame,  I  have  ordered  her  to  bed  and  ad- 
ministered an  opiate,  which  I  hope  will  procure  her  repose; 
and  you,  my  dear  sir,"  added  he,  addressing  the  count, 
"you  had  better  seek  rest!  The  stoutest  constitution 
might  sink  under  what  you  have  lately  endured.  Pray 
allow  Mr.  Somerset  and  myself  to  prevail  with  you,  on  our 
accounts,  if  not  on  your  own,  to  retire  for  half  an  hour!" 

Thaddeus,  in  disregard  of  his  personal  comfort,  never 
infringed  on  that  of  others;  he  felt  that  he  could  not 
sleep,  but  he  knew  it  would  gratify  his  ben  jvolent  friends 
to  suppose  that  he  did;  and  accordingly  he  went  to  a 
room,  and  throwing  himself  on  a  bed,  lay  for  an  hour, 
ruminating  on  all  that  had  passed. 

There  is  an  omnipresence  in  thought,  or  a  celerity  pro- 
ducing nearly  the  same  effect,  which  brings  within  the 
short  space  of  a  few  minutes  the  images  of  many  forego- 
ing years.  In  almost  the  same  moment,  Thaddeus  reflected 
on  his  strange  meeting  with  the  countess;  the  melancholy 
story;  her  forlorn  death-bed;  the  fatal  secret  that  her  vile 
husband  and  son  were  his  father  and  brother;  and  that 
her  daughter,  whom  his  warm  heart  acknowledged  as  a 
sister,  was  with  him  under  the  same  roof,  and,  like  him, 
the  innocent  inheritor  of  her  father's  shame. 

While  these  multifarious  and  painful  meditations  were 
agitating  his  perturbed  mind,  Dr.  Cavendish  found  repose 
on  a  couch;  and  Pembroke  Somerset,  resolving  once  more 
to  try  the  influence  of  entreaty  on  the  hitherto  generous 
spirit  of  his  father,  with  mingled  hope  and  despondence 
commenced  a  last  attempt  to  shake  his  fatal  resolution  in 
the  following  letter; 


3?0  TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"To  Sir  Eobert  Somerset,  Bart.,  Somerset  Castle. 

"I  have  not  ventured  into  the  presence  of  my  dear 
father  since  he  uttered  the  dreadful  words  which  I  would 
give  my  existence  to  believe  I  had  never  heard.  You 
denounced  a  curse  upon  me  if  I  opposed  your  will  to  have 
me  break  ali  connection  with  the  man  who  preserved  my 
life!  When  I  think  on  this,  when  I  remember  that  it  was 
from  you  I  received  a  command  so  inexplicable  from  one 
of  your  character,  so  disgraceful  to  mine,  I  am  almost 
mad;  and  what  I  shall  be  should  you,  by  repeating  your 
injunctions,  force  me  to  obey  them,  Heaven  only  knows! 
but  I  am  certain  that  I  cannot  survive  the  loss  of  my 
honor;  I  cannot  survive  the  sacrifice  of  all  my  principles 
of  virtue  which  such  conduct  must  forever  destroy. 

"Oh,  my  father!  I  conjure  you,  reflect,  before,  in  com- 
pliance with  an  oath  it  was  almost  guilt  to  make,  you 
decree  your  only  son  to  everlasting  shame  and  remorse. 
Act  how  I  will,  I  shall  never  be  happy  more.  I  cannot 
live  under  your  malediction;  and  should  I  give  up  my 
friend,  my  conscience  will  reproach  me  every  instant  of 
my  existence.  Can  I  draw  the  breath  which  he  prolonged 
and  cease  to  remember  that  I  have  abandoned  him  to 
want  and  misery?  It  were  vain  to  flatter  myself  that  he 
will  condescend  to  escape  either  by  the  munificence  which 
you  offer  as  a  compensation  for  my  friendship.  No;  I 
cannot  believe  that  his  sensible  and  independent  nature  is 
so  changed;  circumstances  never  had  any  power  over  the 
nobility  of  his  soul. 

"Misfortune,  which  threw  the  Count  Sobieski  on  the 
bounty  of  England,  cannot  make  him  appear  otherwise  in 
my  eyes  than  as  the  idol  of  Warsaw,  whose  smile  was 
honor  and  whose  friendship  conferred  distinction. 

"Though  deprived  of  the  splendor  of  command;  though 
the  eager  circle  of  friends  no  longer  cluster  round  him; 
though  a  stranger  in  this  country,  and  without  a  home; 
though,  in  place  of  an  equipage  and  retinue,  he  is  followed 
by  calamity  and  neglect,  yet,  in  my  mind,  I  still  see  him 
in  a  car  of  triumph :  I  see  not  only  the  opposer  of  his 
nation's  enemies,  but  the  vanquisher  of  his  own  desires. 
I  see  the  heir  of  a  princely  house,  who,  when  mankind 
have  deserted  him,  is  yet  encompassed  by  his  virtues.  I 
see  him,  though  cast  out  from  a  hardened  and  unjust 
society,  still  surrounded  by  the  lingering  spirits  of  those 
who  were  called  to  better  worlds ! 


TRADDBOS  OF  WARSAW.  371 

"AnA  this  is  the  man,  my  dear  father  (whom  I  am  sure, 
had  he  been  of  any  other  country  than  Poland,  you  would 
have  selected  from  all  other  men  to  be  the  friend  and  ex- 
ample of  your  son),  this  is  he  whom  you  command  me  to 
thrust  away. 

"I  beseech  you  to  examine  this  injunction!  I  am  now 
writing  under  the  same  roof  with  him;  it  depends  on  you, 
my  ever-revered  father,  whether  I  am  doing  so  for  the 
last  time;  whether  this  is  the  last  day  in  which  your  son 
is  to  consider  himself  a  man  of  honor,  or  whether  he  is 
henceforth  to  be  a  wretch  overwhelmed  with  shame  and 
sorrow ! 

"I  have  not  yet  dared  to  utter  one  word  of  your  cruel 
orders  to  my  unhappy  friend.  He  is  now  retired  to  seek 
some  rest,  after  the  new  anguish  of  having  witnessed  the 
almost  sudden  death  of  Lady  Tinemouth.  Should  I  have 
to  tell  him  that  he  is  to  lose  me  too — but  I  cannot  add 
more.  Your  own  heart,  my  father,  must  tell  you  that 
my  soul  is  on  the  rack  until  I  have  an  answer  to  this 
letter. 

"Before  I  shut  my  paper,  let  me  implore  you  on  my 
knees,  whatever  you  may  decide,  do  not  hate  me;  do  not 
load  my  breaking  heart  with  a  parent's  curse!  Whatever 
I  may  be,  however  low  and  degraded  in  my  own  eyes,  still, 
that  I  sacrificed  what  is  most  precious  to  me,  to  my  father, 
will  impart  the  only  consolation  which  will  then  haTe 
power  to  reach  your  dutiful  and  afflicted  son, 

"P.  Somerset. 

"Harrowby  Abbey,  two  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

Br.  Cavendish  remained  in  a  profound  sleep,  while 
Pembroke,  with  an  aching  heart  having  written  the  above 
letter,  and  dispatched  it  by  a  man  and  horse,  tried  to  com- 
pose himself  to  half  an  hour's  forgetfulness  of  life  and  its 
turmoils;  but  he  found  his  attempts  as  ineffectual  as 
those  of  his  friend. 

Thaddeus  had  found  no  repose  on  his  restless  pillow. 
Reluctant  to  disturb  the  doctor  and  Somerset,  who,  he 
hoped,  having  less  cause  for  regret,  were  sleeping  tran- 
quilly, he  remained  in  bed;  but  he  longed  for  morning. 
To  his  fevered  nerves,  any  change  of  position,  with  move- 
merit,  seemed  better  than  where  he  was,  and  with  some 
gleams  of  pleasure  he  watched   the  dawn,  and  the  rising 


372  TBADDmS  OF  WARSA  W. 

of  the  sun  behind  the  opposite  hill.  He  got  up,  opened 
the  window  to  inhale  the  air,  and  looking  out,  saw  a  man 
throw  himself  off  a  horse,  which  was  all  in  foam,  and  en- 
ter the  house. 

Surprised  at  this  circumstance,  he  descended  to  the 
parlor  to  make  inquiry,  and  met  the  man  in  the  hall,  who, 
being  Pembroke's  messenger,  had  returned  express  from 
the  castle,  bearing  an  order  from  Sir  Robert  (who  was 
taken  alarmingly  ill)  that  his  son  must  come  back  imme- 
diately. 

Dismayed  with  this  new  distress,  Mr.  Somerset,  on  its 
instant  information,  pressed  the  count  so  closely  to  his 
breast  when  he  bade  him  farewell  that  a  more  suspicious 
person  might  have  apprehended  it  was  a  final  parting;  but 
Thaddeus  discerned  nothing  more  in  the  anguish  of  his 
friend's  countenance  than  fear  for  the  safety  of  Sir 
Robert;  and  fervently  wishing  his  recovery,  he  bade  Pem- 
broke remember  that  should  more  assistance  be  necessary, 
Dr.  Cavendish  would  remain  at  the  abbey  until  Lady 
Albina's  return  to  the  Wolds. 

Mr.  Somerset  being  gone,  toward  noon,  when  the  count 
was  anxiously  awaiting  the  appearance  of  the  physician 
from  the  room  of  the  new  invalid,  he  was  disappointed  by 
the  abrupt  entrance  of  two  gentlemen.  He  rose,  and  with 
his  usual  courtesy  to  strangers,  inquired  their  business. 
The  elder  of  the  men,  with  a  fierce  countenance  and  a 
voice  of  thunder,  announced  himself  to  be  the  Earl  of 
Tinemouth,  and  the  other  his  son. 

"We  are  come,"  said  he,  standing  at  a  haughty  dis- 
tance— "we  are  come  to  carry  from  this  nest  of  infamy 
Lady  Albina  Stanhope,  whom  some  one  of  her  mother's 
taramours — perhaps  you,   sir — dared    to  steal  from  her 

ther's  home  yesterday  evening.  And  I  am  come  to  give 
vou,  sir,  who  I  guess  to  be  some  fugitive  vagabond,  the 
nastisement  your  audacity  deserves." 

With  difficulty  the  Count  Sobieski  suppressed  the  pas- 
sions which  were  rising  in  his  breast.  He  turned  a  scorn- 
ful glance  on  the  person  of  Lord  Harwold  (who,  with  an 
air  of  insufferable  derision,  was  coolly  measuring  his  figure 
through  an  eyeglass);  and  then,  replying  to  the  earl,  said, 
in  a  firm  voice,  "My  lord,  whoever  you  suppose  me  to  be, 
it  matters  not;  I  now  stand  in  the  place  of  Lady  Tine- 
mouth's  confidential  friend,  and  to  my  last  gasp  I  will 
prove  myself  the  defender  of  her  injured  name." 


TEA  BDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  373 

"Her  lover!"  interrupted  Lord  Harwold,  turning  on 
his  heel. 

"Her  defender,  sir!"  repeated  Thaddeus,  witn  a  tre- 
mendous frown;  "and  shame  and  sorrow  will  pursue  that 
son  who  requires  a  stranger  to  supply  his  duty." 

"Wretch!"  cried  the  earl,  forgetting  his  assumed  lofti- 
ness, and  advancing  passionately  toward  Thaddeus,  with 
his  stick  held  up;  "how  dare  you  address  such  language 
to  an  English  nobleman?" 

"By  the  right  of  nature,  which  holds  her  laws  over  all 
mankind,"  returned  Thaddeus,  calmly  looking  on  the 
raised  stick.  "When  an  English  nobleman  forgets  that 
he  is  a  son,  he  deserves  reproach  from  his  meanest  vassal." 

"You  see,  my  lord,"  cried  Harwold,  sliding  behind  his 
father,  "what  we  bring  on  ourselves  by  harboring  these 
democratic  foreigners!  Sir,"  added  he,  addressing  him- 
self to  Thaddeus,  "your  dangerous  principles  shall  be 
communicated  to  government.  Such  traitors  ought  to 
be  hanged." 

Sobieski  eyed  the  enraged  little  lord  with  contempt; 
and  turning  to  the  earl,  who  was  again  going  to  speak,  he 
said,  in  an  unaltered  tone,  "I  cannot  guess,  Lord  Tine- 
mouth,  what  is  the  reason  of  this  attack  on  me.  I  came 
hither  by  accident;  I  found  the  countess  ill;  and,  from 
respect  to  her  excellent  qualities,  I  remained  with  her 
until  her  eyes  were  closed  forever.  She  desired  to  see  her 
daughter  before  she  died — what  human  heart  could  deny 
a  mother  such  a  request? — and  Pembroke  Somerset,  her 
kinsman,  undertook  to  bring  Lady  Albina  to  the  abbey." 

"Pembroke  Somerset!"  echoed  the  earl.  "A  pretty 
guard  for  my  daughter,  truly!  I  have  no  doubt  that  he  is 
just  such  a  fellow  as  his  father — just  such  a  person  as 
yourself!  I  am  not  to  be  imposed  upon.  I  know  Lady 
Tinemouth  to  have  been  a  disgrace  to  me,  and  you  to  be 
that  German  adventurer  on  whose  account  I  sent  her  from 
London. 


?> 


Shocked  at  this  calumny  on  the  memory  of  a  woman 
whose  fame  from  any  other  mouth  came  as  unsullied  as 
purity  itself,  Thaddeus  gazed  with  horror  at  the  furious 
countenance  of  the  man  whom  he  believed  to  be  his 
father.  His  heart  swelled;  but  not  deigning  to  reply  to 
a  charge  as  unmanly  as  it  was  false,  he  calmly  took  out  of 
his  pocket  two  letters  which  the  countess  had  dictated  to 
her  husband  and  her  son. 


374  THADDEUS  Off  WARSAW. 

Lord  Harwold  tore  his  open,  cast  his  eyes  over  the  first 
words,  then  crumpling  it  in  his  hand,  threw  it  from  him, 
exclaiming,  "I  am  not  to  be  frightened  either  by  her  arts 
or  the  falsehoods  of  the  fellows  with  whom  she  dishonored 
her  name." 

Thaddeus,  no  longer  master  of  himself,  sprang  toward 
this  unnatural  son  and  seized  his  arm  with  an  iron  grasp. 
"Lord  Harwold!"  cried  he,  in  a  dreadful  voice,  "were  it 
not  that  I  have  some  mercy  on  you  for  that  parent's  sake, 
to  whom,  like  a  parricide,  you  are  giving  a  second  death 
by  such  murderous  slander,  I  would  resent  her  wrongs  at 
the  hazard  of  your  worthless  life!" 

"My  lord!  my  lord!"  cried  the  trembling  Harwold, 
quaking  under  the  grip  of  Thaddeus,  and  shrinking  from 
the  terrible  brightness  of  his  eye — "my  lord!  my  lord! 
rescue  me!" 

The  earl,  almost  suffocated  with  rage,  called  out,  "Ruf- 
fian!  let  go  my  son!"  and  again  raising  his  arm,  aimed  a 
blow  at  the  head  of  Thaddeus,  who,  wrenching  the  stick 
out  of  the  foaming  lord's  hand,  snapped  it  in  two,  and 
threw  the  pieces  out  of  the  open  window. 

Lord  Harwold  took  this  opportunity  to  ring  the  bell 
violently,  on  which  summons  two  of  his  servants  entered 
the  room. 

"Now,  you  low-born,  insolent  scoundrel,"  cried  the 
disarmed  earl,  stamping  with  his  feet,  and  pointing  to  the 
men  who  stood  at  the  door,  "you  shall  be  turned  by  the 
neck  and  heels  out  of  this  house.  Richard,  James,  collar 
that  fellow  instantly." 

Thaddeus  only  extended  his  arm  to  the  men  (who  were 
looking  confusedly  on  each  other),  and  calmly  said,  "If 
either  of  you  attempt  to  obey  this  command  of  your  lord, 
you  shall  have  cause  to  repent  it." 

The  men  retreated.     The  earl  repeated  his  orders. 

"Rascals!  do  as  I  command  you,  or  instantly  quit  my 
service.  I  will  teach  you,"  added  he,  clinching  his  fist 
at  the  count,  who  stood  resolutely  and  serenely  before 
him,  "I  will  teach  you  how  to  behave  to  a  man  of  high 
birth." 

The  footmen  were  again  deterred  from  approaching  by 
a  glance  from  the  intimidating  eyes  of  Thaddeus,   who, 
turning  with  stern  dignity   to  the   storming   earl,   said, 
You  can  teach  me  nothing  about  high  birth  that  I  dq 


<< 


mADDtitTS  OP  WAllSAW.  375 

not  already  know.  Could  it  be  of  any  independent  benefit 
to  a  man,  then  had  I  not  received  the  taunts  and  insults 
which  you  have  dared  to  cast  upon  me." 

At  that  moment  Dr.  Cavendish,  having  heard  a  bustle, 
made  his  appearance.  Amazed  at  the  sight  of  two  stran- 
gers, who,  from  their  enraged  countenances  and  the  proud 
elevation  with  which  Thaddeus  was  standing  between 
them,  he  rightly  judged  to  be  the  earl  and  his  son,  he 
advanced  toward  his  friend,  intending  to  support  him  in 
the  attack  which  he  saw  was  menaced  by  the  violent  ges- 
tures of  these  visitors. 

"Dr.  Cavendish,"  said  Thaddeus,  speaking  to  him  as 
he  approached,  "your  name  must  be  a  passport  to  the  con- 
fidence of  any  man;  I  therefore  shall  gratify  the  husband 
of  my  ever-lamented  friend  by  quitting  this  house;  but  I 
delegate  to  you  the  office  with  which  she  intrusted  me. 
I  leave  you  in  charge  of  her  sacred  remains,  and  of  the 
jewels  which  you  will  find  in  her  apartment.  She  desired 
that  half  of  them  might  be  given,  with  her  blessing,  to 
her  daughter,  and  the  other  half,  with  her  pardon,  to  her 
son." 

"Tell  me,  Dr.  Cavendish,"  cried  the  earl,  as  Thaddeus 
was  passing  him  to  leave  the  room,  "who  is  that  insolent 
fellow?     By  Heaven,  he  shall  smart  for  this!" 

"Ay,  that  he  shall,"  rejoined  Lord  Harwold,  "if  I  have 
any  interest  with  the  Alien  Office." 

Dr.  Cavendish  was  preparing  to  speak,  when  Thaddeus, 
turning  round  at  this  last  threat  of  the  viscount,  said,  "If 
I  did  not  know  myself  to  be  above  Lord  Harwold's  power, 

5)erhaps  he  might  provoke  me  to  treat  him  according  to 
lis  deserts;  but  I  abjure  resentment,  while  I  pity  his 
delusions.  For  you,  my  lord,"  added  he,  addressing  the 
earl  with  a  less  calm  countenance,  "there  is  an  angel  in 
heaven  who  pleads  against  the  insults  you  have  uninquir- 
ingly  and  unjustly  heaped  upon  an  innocent  man!" 

Thaddeus  disappeared  from  the  apartment  while  utter- 
ing the  last  word ;  hastening  from  the  house  and  park,  he 
stopped  near  the  brow  of  the  hill,  at  the  porch  of  his 
lately  peaceful  little  hotel.  The  landlady  was  a  sister  of 
John  Jacobs,  the  faithful  servant  of  his  lamented  friend, 
and  who  was  then  watching  the  door  of  the  neglected 
chamber  in  which  the  sacred  remains  of  his  dear  mistress 
lay,  as  he  would  have  guarded  lier  life,  had  the  foes  who 


376  TiiAbmus  OF  WAftSA  w. 

had  now  destroyed  it  been  still  menacing  its  flickering 
flame.  The  worthy  couple  were  also  attached  to  that 
benevolent  lady;  and  with  sad  looks,  but  respectful  wel- 
coming, they  saw  Mr.  Constantine  reenter  their  humble 
home,  and  assured  him  of  its  retirement  as  long  as  he 
might  wish  to  abide  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  abbey. 
Any  prospect  of  repose  promised  elysium  to  him;  and 
with  harassed  and  torn  nerves  he  took  possession  of  his 
apartment,  which  looked  down  the  road  that  led  from  the 
old  monastic  structure  to  the  town  of  Grantham.  The 
rapidity  of  the  recent  events  bewildered  his  senses,  like 
the  illusions  of  a  dream.  He  had  seen  his  father,  his 
sister,  his  brother;  and  most  probably  he  had  parted  from 
them  forever — at  least,  he  hoped  he  should  never  again  be 
tortured  with  the  sight  of  Lord  Tinemouth  or  his  son. 

"How,"  thought  he,  while  walking  up  and  down  his 
solitary  parlor,  "could  the  noble  nature  of  my  mother  love 
such  a  man?  and  how  could  he  have  held  so  long  an 
empire  over  the  pure  heart  he  has  just  now  broken?" 

He  could  nowhere  discern,  in  the  bloated  visage  and 
rageful  gestures  of  the  earl,  any  of  that  beauty  of  counte- 
nance or  grace  of  manners  which  had  alike  charmed 
Therese  Sobieski  and  the  tender  Adeliza. 

Like  those  hideous  chasms  which  are  dug  deep  in  the 
land  by  the  impetuous  sweep  of  a  torrent,  the  course  of 
violent  passions  leaves  vast  and  irreparable  traces  on  the 
features  and  in  the  soul.     So  it  was  with  Lord  Tmemoutn. 

"How  legibly  does  vice  or  virtue,"  ejaculated  Thad- 
deus,  "write  itself  on  the  human  face!  The  earl's  might 
once  have  been  flue,  but  the  lineaments  of  selfishness  and 
sin  have  degraded  every  part  of  him.  Mysterious  Provi- 
dence! Can  he  be  my  father — can  it  be  his  blood  that  is 
now  running  in  my  veins?  Can  it  be  his  blood  that  rises 
at  this  moment  with  detestation  against  him?" 

Before  the  sun  set,  Sobieski  was  aroused  from  these 
painful  soliloquies  by  still  more  painful  feelings.  He  saw 
from  his  window  a  hearse  driving  at  full  speed  up  the  road 
that  ascended  to  the  abbey,  and  presently  return  at  a 
slower  pace,  followed  by  a  single  black  coach. 

"Inhuman  men!"  exclaimed  he,  while  pursuing  with 
his  eyes  the  tips  of  the  sable  plumes  as  the  meager  caval- 
cade of  mourners  wound  down  the  hill;  "could  you  not 
allow  this  poor  corpse  a  little  rest?     Must  her  persecution. 


THADDEUS  OF  WAR8A  W.  37? 

be  extended  to  the  grave?  Must  her  cold  relics  be  in- 
sulted, be  hurried  to  the  tomb  without  reverence — with- 
out decency?" 

The  filial  heart  that  uttered  this  thought  also  of  his 
own  injured  mother,  and  shrank  with  horror  at  this 
climax  of  the  earl's  barbarity.  Dr.  Cavendish  entered 
Avith  a  flushed  countenance.  He  spoke  indignantly  of  the 
act  he  still  saw  from  the  window,  which  he  denounced  as 
a  sacrilege  against  the  dead.  "Not  twenty-four  hours 
since,"  cried  he,  "she  expired!  and  she  is  hurried  into 
the  cold  bosom  of  the  earth,  like  a  criminal,  or  a  creature 
whose  ashes  a  moment  above  ground  might  spread  a  pesti- 
lence. Oh,  how  can  that  sweet  victim,  Lady  Albina,  share 
such  peccant  blood?" 

Thaddeus,  whose  soul  had  just  writhed  under  a  similar 
question  with  regard  to  himself,  could  little  bear  the  repe- 
tition, and  interrupted  the  good  physician  by  tenderly 
inquiring  how  she  had  borne  that  so  abrupt  removal  of 
her  mother's  remains. 

"With  mute  anguish,"  returned  Dr.  Cavendish,  in  a 
responding,  calmer  voice  of  pity;  "and  though  I  had 
warned  her  father  that  the  shock  of  so  suddenly  tearing 
his  daughter  from  such  beloved  relics  might  peril  her  own 
life,  he  continued  obdurate;  and  putting  her  into  his 
traveling  chariot  in  a  state  of  insensibility,  along  with  her 
maid,  in  a  few  minutes  afterward  I  saw  him  set  off  in  a 
hired  post-chaise,  accompanied  by  his  detestable  son, 
loaded  with  more  than  one  curse,  muttered  by  the  in- 
dignant rustics.  Only  servants  followed  in  that  mourning 
coach." 

In  the  midst  of  this  depressing  conversation  a  courier 
arrived  from  Stamford  to  Dr.  Cavendish,  recalling  him 
immediately  to  return  thither,  the  invalid  there  having 
sustained  an  alarming  relapse.  The  good  doctor,  sincerely 
reluctant  to  quit  Thaddeus  (whom  he  still  knew  by  no 
other  name  than  Constantine),  ordered  the  dispatch-chaise 
to  the  hotel  door.  When  it  was  announced,  he  shook 
hands  with  the  now  lonely  survivor  of  his  departed  friend 
in  this  stranger  land,  requested  that  he  might  hear  from 
him  before  he  left  that  part  of  the  country  for  London 
again,  and  bidding  him  many  cordial  adieus,  continued  to 
look  out  of  the  back  window  of  the  carriage,  until  the 
faint  light  of  the  moon  and  the  receding  glimmer  of  the 


3*8  TBABDEZfS  OF  WARSAW. 

village  candles  finally  hid  the  little  spot  that  yet  contained 
this  young  and  sadly  stricken  exile  from  his  lingering 
eyes. 

CHAPTEK  XLIII. 

THE    OLD   VILLAGE   HOTEL. 

For  the  first  time  during  many  nights,  Thaddeus  slept 
soundly;  but  his  dreams  were  disturbed,  and  he  awoke 
from  them  at  an  early  hour,  unrefreshed  and  in  much 
fever. 

The  simple  breakfast  which  his  attentive  host  and  host- 
ess set  before  him  was  scarcely  touched.  Their  nicely 
dressed  dinner  met  with  the  same  fate.  He  was  ill,  and 
possessed  neither  appetite  nor  spirits  to  eat.  The  good 
people  being  too  civil  to  intrude  upon  him,  he  sat  alone 
in  his  window  from  eight  o'clock  (at  which  hour  he  had 
arisen)  until  the  cawing  of  the  rooks,  as  they  returned  to 
the  abbey  woods,  reminded  him  of  the  approach  of  even- 
ing. He  was  uneasy  at  the  absence  of  Somerset,  not  so 
much  on  his  own  account  as  on  that  of  Sir  Eobert,  whose 
increased  danger  might  have  occasioned  this  delay;  how- 
ever, he  hoped  otherwise.  Longing  earnestly  for  a  tem- 
porary sanctuary  under  his  friend's  paternal  roof,  in  the 
quiet  of  its  peace  and  virtues,  he  trusted  that  the  sympathy 
of  Pembroke,  the  only  confidant  of  his  past  sorrows,  would 
tend  to  heal  his  recent  wounds  (though  the  nature  of  the 
most  galling,  he  felt,  must  ever  remain  unrevealed  even 
to  him),  and  so  fit  him,  should  it  be  required,  to  yet  fur- 
ther brave  the  buffets  of  an  adverse  fate.  Nor  was  Miss 
Beaufort  forgotten.  If  ever  one  idea  more  than  another 
sweetened  the  bitterness  of  his  reflections,  it  was  the 
remembrance  of  Mary  Beaufort.  Whenever  her  image 
rose  before  him — whether  he  were  standing  in  the  lonely 
day  with  folded  arms,  in  vacant  gaze  on  the  valley  beneath, 
or  when  lying  on  his  watchful  pillow  he  opened  his  aching 
eyes  to  the  morning  light — still,  as  her  angel  figure  pre- 
sented itself  to  his  mind,  he  did  indeed  sigh,  but  it  was  a 
sigh  laden  with  balm ;  it  did  not  tear  his  breast  like  those 
which  had  been  wrung  from  him  by  the  hard  hand  of 
calamity  and  insult.     It  was  the  soft  breath  of  a  hallowed 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  379 

love,  which  makes  man  dream  of  heaven,  while  he  feels 
sinking  to  an  early  grave.  Thaddeus  felt  it  delightful  to 
recollect  how  she  had  looked  on  him  that  day  in  Hyde 
Park,  when  she  "bade  him  take  care  of  his  own  Jife, 
while  so  devoted  to  that  of  his  dying  friend!"  and  how 
she  ''blessed  him  in  his  task,"  with  a  voice  of  tenderness  so 
startlingly  sacred  to  his  soul  in  its  accents  that  in  remem- 
bering her  words  now,  when  so  near  the  moment  of  his 
again  seeing  and  hearing  her,  his  soul  expanded  toward 
her,  agitated,  indeed,  but  soothed  and  comforted. 

"Sweet  Mary!"  murmured  he,  "I  shall  behold  thee 
once  more;  I  shall  again  revive  under  thy  kind  smile! 
Oh,  it  is  happiness  to  know  that  I  owe  my  liberty  to  thee, 
though  I  may  not  dare  to  tell  thee  so!  Yet  my  swelling 
heart  may  cherish  the  dear  consciousness,  and  bereaved 
though  I  am  of  all  I  formerly  loved,  be  indeed  blessed 
while  on  earth  with  the  Heaven-bestowed  privilege  of 
loving  thee,  even  in  silence  and  forever!  Alas!  alas!  a 
man  without  kindred  or  a  country  dare  not  even  wish  thee 
to  be  his!"  A  sigh  from  the  depths  of  his  soul  closed  this 
soliloquy. 

The  sight  of  Pembroke  riding  through  the  field  toward 
the  little  inn  recalled  the  thoughts  of  Sobieski  to  that 
dear  friend  alone.  He  went  out  to  meet  him.  Mr.  Som- 
erset saw  him,  and  putting  his  horse  to  a  brisk  canter,  was 
at  his  side  in  a  few  minutes.  Thaddeus  asked  anxiously 
about  the  baronet's  health.  Pembroke  answered  with  an 
incoherency  devoid  of  all  meaning.  Thaddeus  looked  at 
him  with  surprise,  but  from  increased  anxiety  forbore  to 
repeat  the  question.  They  walked  toward  the  inn;  still 
Pembroke  did  not  appear  to  recover  himself,  and  his 
evident  absence  of  mind  and  the  wild  rambling  of  his  eyes 
were  so  striking  that  Thaddeus  could  have  no  doubt  of 
some  dreadful  accident. 

As  soon  as  they  had  entered  the  little  parlor,  his  friend 
cast  himself  into  a  chair,  and  throwing  off  his  hat,  wiped 
away  the  perspiration  which,  though  a  cold  October  even- 
ing, was  streaming  down  his  forehead.  Thaddeus  endured 
a  suspense  which  was  almost  insupportable. 

"What  is  the  direful  matter,  dear  Pembroke?  Is  any 
we  honor  and  love  ill  unto  death?"  His  pale  face  showed 
that  he  apprehended  it,  and  he  thought  it  might  be  Mary. 

"No,  no,"  returned  Pembroke;    "everybody   is  well, 


380  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

excepting  myself  and  my  father,  who,  I  verily  believe, 
has  lost  his  senses;  at  any  rate,  he  will  drive  me  mad." 

The  manner  in  which  this  reply  was  uttered  astonished 
Thaddeus  so  much  that  he  could  only  gaze  with  wonder 
on  the  convulsed  features  of  his  friend.  Pembroke 
observed  his  amazement,  and  laying  his  hand  on  his  arm, 
said,  "My  dear,  dear  Sobieski!  what  do  I  not  owe  to  you? 
Good  Heaven!  how  humbled  am  I  in  your  sight!  But 
there  is  a  Power  above  who  knows  how  intimately  you  are 
woven  with  every  artery  of  this  heart." 

"I  believe  it,  my  kind  Pembroke,"  cried  Thaddeus,  yet 
more  alarmed  than  before;  "tell  me  what  it  is  that  dis- 
tresses you-  If  my  counsel  or  my  sympathy  can  offer 
anything  to  comfort  or  assist  you,  you  know  I  am  your 
own." 

Pembroke  burst  into  tears,  and  covering  his  streaming 
eyes  with  his  handkerchief,  exclaimed,  "I  am  indeed  dis- 
tressed— distressed  even  beyond  your  comfort.  Oh!  how 
can  I  speak  it !  You  will  despise  my  father !  You  will 
spurn  me!" 

"Impossible!"  cried  Thaddeus  with  energy,  though  his 
flushed  cheek  and  fainting  heart  immediately  declared 
that  he  had  anticipated  what  he  must  hear. 

"I  see,"  cried  Pembroke,  regarding  the  altered  features 
of  his  friend  with  a  glance  of  agony — "I  see  that  you 
think  it  is  possible  that  my  father  can  sink  me  below  my 
own  contempt." 

The  benumbing  touch  of  ingratitude  ran  through  the 
veins  of  Thaddeus;  his  frame  was  chilled — was  petrified; 
but  his  just  affection  and  calmed  countenance  proclaimed 
how  true  a  judgment  he  had  passed  on  the  whole.  He 
took  the  burning  hand  of  Mr.  Somerset  in  his  own,  and 
with  a  steady  and  consoling  voice  said,  "Assure  yourself, 
dear  Pembroke,  whatever  be  the  commands  of  your  father, 
I  shall  adhere  to  them.  I  cannot  understand  by  these 
generous  emotions  that  he  objects  to  receive  me  as  your 
friend.  Perhaps,"  added  he — a  flash  of  suspicion  gleam- 
ing through  his  mind — '"perhaps  Miss  Beaufort  may  have 
perceived  the  devotedness  of  my  heart,  and  disdaining 
my " 

"Hush,  for  Heaven's  sake!"  cried  Pembroke,  starting 
from  his  chair;  "do  not  implicate  my  poor  cousin!  Do 
not  add  to  her  disappointment  the  misery  that  you  suspect 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  381 

her!  No,  Thadcleus,"  continued  he,  in  a  calmer  tone; 
"Mary  Beaufort  loves  you:  she  confessed  it  in  an  agony 
of  grief  on  my  bosom,  just  before  I  came  away;  and  only 
through  her  I  dare  ever  expect  to  meet  forgiveness  from 
you.  In  spite  of  my  father,  you  may  marry  her.  She 
has  no  curse  to  dread;  she  need  not  sacrifice  all  that  is 
most  precious  in  her  sight  to  the  obstinate  caprice  of  crim- 
inal resentment." 

"A  curse!"  reiterated  Thadcleus.  "How  is  this — what 
have  I  done,  to  deserve  such  hatred  from  your  father?" 

"Oh!  nothing,"  cried  Pembroke— "nothing.  My  fa- 
ther never  saw  you.  My  father  thanks  you  for  all  that 
you  have  done  for  me;  but  it  is  your  country  that  he 
hates.  Some  Polander,  years  back,  injured  him;  and  my 
father  took  a  fatal  oath  against  the  whole  nation.  He  de- 
clares that  he  cannot,  he  will  not,  break  it,  were  he  by  so 
doing  to  save  his  own  life,  or  even  mine;  for  (Heaven 
forgive  me!)  I  was  this  morning  wrought  up  to  such 
frenzy  that  I  threatened  to  destroy  myself  rather  than 
sacrifice  my  gratitude  and  honor  to  his  cruel  commands! 
Nay,  to  convince  you  that  his  is  no  personal  enmity  to 
yourself,  he  ordered  me  to  give  you  writings  which  will 
put  you  in  possession  of  an  independence  forever.  I  have 
them  with  me." 

All  the  pride  of  his  princely  house  rose  at  once  in  the 
breast  of  Thadcleus.  Though  full  of  indignation  at  this 
insult  of  Sir  Robert's,  he  regarded  the  averted  face  of  his 
friend  with  compassion,  while  in  a  firm  voice  he  rejected 
the  degrading  compromise. 

"Tell  your  father,"  added  he,  addressing  Pembroke,  in 
a  tone  which  even  his  affection  could  not  soften  from  a 
command,  "that  my  absence  is  not  to  be  bought  with 
money,  nor  my  friendship  so  rewarded." 

Pembroke  covered  his  burning  face  with  his  hands. 
This  sight  at  once  brought  clown  the  haughty  spirit  of 
Sobieski,  who  continued  in  gentler  accents,  "Whatever 
be  the  sentiments  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset,  they  shall  meet 
with  clue  attention  from  me.  He  is  your  father,  there- 
fore I  respect  him;  but  he  has  put  it  out  of  his  power  to 
oblige  me:  I  cannot  accept  his  bounty.  Though  your 
heart,  my  dearest  Pembroke,  is  above  all  price,  yet  I  will 
make  it  a  sacrifice  to  your  duty."  And  by  so  doing  put 
the  last  seal  on  my  misfortunes,  was  the  meaning  of  the 
heavy  sigh  which  accompanied  his  last  words. 


382  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Pembroke  traversed  the  room  in  an  agony.  "Merciful 
Providence!"  cried  he,  wringing  his  clasped  hands,  "direct 
me!  Oh,  Thaddeus,  if  you  could  read  my  tortured  heart, 
you  would  pity  me;  you  would  see  that  this  affair  is  tear- 
ing my  soul  from  my  body.  What  am  I  to  do?  I  cannot, 
I  will  not,  part  with  you  forever." 

Thaddeus,  with  a  calm  sadness,  drew  him  to  a  seat. 
"Be  satisfied,"  said  he,  "that  I  am  convinced  of  your 
affection.  Whatever  may  happen,  this  assurance  will  be 
sufficient  to  giTe  me  comfort;  therefore,  by  that  affection, 
I  entreat  you,  dar  Pembroke,  not  to  bring  regret  to  me, 
and  reproach  on  yourself,  by  disobeying  in  any  way  the 
will  of  your  father  in  this  matter!  If  we  separate  for  life, 
remember,  my  beloved  friend,  that  the  span  of  our  exist- 
ence here  is  short;  we  shall  meet  again  in  a  happier 
world — perhaps  more  blessed,  for  having  immolated  our 
wishes  to  hard  duty  in  this." 

"Cease,  Sobieski,  cease!"  cried  Pembroke;  "I  can 
draw  no  consolation  from  this  reasoning.  It  is  not  duty 
to  obey  a  hatred  little  short  of  distraction;  and  if  we  now 
separate,  I  feel  that  I  never  shall  know  peace  again.  Good 
Heaven!  what  comfort  can  I  find  when  you  are  exposed  to 
all  the  indignities  which  the  world  levels  against  the  un- 
fortunate? Can  I  indulge  in  the  luxuries  of  my  father's 
house  when  I  know  that  you  have  neither  a  home  nor 
subsistence?  No,  Thaddeus,  I  am  not  such  a  villain.  I 
will  not  give  you  up,  though  my  father  should  load  me 
with  curses.  I  trust  there  is  a  just  Power  above  who 
would  avert  them." 

Perceiving  that  argument  would  not  only  be  fruitless, 
but  might  probably  incense  his  friend's  irritated  nature 
to  the  commission  of  some  rash  action,  Thaddeus  pretended 
,  to  overlook  the  frantic  gesture  and  voice  which  terminated 
this  speech,  and  assuming  a  serene  air,  replied:  "Let  this 
be  the  subject  of  a  future  conversation.  At  present,  I 
must  conjure  you,  by  the  happiness  of  us  both,  to  return 
to  the  castle.  You  know  my  message  to  Sir  Kobert. 
Present  my  respects  to  your  aunt;  and,"  added  he,  after 
an  agitated  pause,  "assure  Miss  Beaufort  that  while  I  have 
life,  her  goodness,  her  sometimes  remembrance,  will 
be- 


Pembroke   interrupted    him.     "Why    these   messages, 
dear    Thaddeus?     Do  not   suppose,   though   I  fulfill  my 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  383 

father's  orders  to  return  to  Somerset  to-night,  that  it  is 
our  separation.  Gracious  Heaven !  Is  it  so  easy  to  part 
forever?" 

"Not  forever!  Oh,  no,"  replied  Thaddeus,  grasping 
his  hand;  "we  shall  see  each  other  again;  only,  mean- 
while, repeat  those,  alas!  inadequate  messages  to  your 
aunt  and  cousin.  Go,  my  dear  Pembroke,  to  your  father; 
and  may  the  Lord  of  Heaven  bless  you!" 

The  last  words  were  spoken  in  almost  a  stifled  voice  as 
he  opened  his  arms  and  strained  his  friend  to  his  breast. 

"I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,"  cried  Pembroke;  "on  no 
other  condition  will  I  leave  you  now." 

Thaddeus  made  no  further  answer  to  this  demand 
(which  he  determined  should  never  be  granted)  than  a 
second  embrace.  Pembroke  went  out  of  the  room  to  order 
his  horse;  then,  returning,  he  stood  at  the  door,  and  hold- 
ing out  his  hand  to  the  count,  repeated,  "Farewell  till  to- 
morrow." Thaddeus  pressed  it  warmly,  and  he  disap- 
peared. 

The  outward  gate  closed  after  his  friend,  but  Sobieski 
remained  on  the  seat  into  which  he  had  thrown  himself. 
He  did  not  venture  to  move,  lest  he  should  by  chance 
catch  a  second  glance  of  Pembroke  from  the  window.  Now 
that  he  was  gone,  he  acknowledged  the  full  worth  of  what 
he  had  relinquished.  He  had  resigned  a  man  who  loved 
him;  one  who  had  known  and  revered  his  ever-lamented 
grandfather,  and  his  mother — the  only  one  with  whom  he 
could  have  discoursed  of  their  virtues!  He  had  severed 
the  link  Avhich  had  united  his  present  state  with  his 
former  fortunes;  and  throwing  his  arms  along  a  table  that 
stood  near  him,  he  leaned  his  aching  head  upon  them, 
and  in  idea  followed  with  a  bleeding  heart  the  progress 
and  reception  of  his  friend  at  the  castle. 

The  racking  misery  which  tortured  the  mind  of  Mr. 
Somerset  was  not  borne  with  equal  resignation.  Conscious 
of  his  having  inflicted  fresh  wounds  on  the  breast  of  his 
truest  friend,  his  spirits  were  so  ill  adapted  to  any  conver- 
sation that  he  was  pleased  rather  than  disappointed  when 
he  found  the  supper-room  at  the  castle  quite  vacant,  and 
only  one  cover  on  the  table  awaiting  his  arrival. 

He  asked  a  few  questions  of  the  servants,  who  informed 
him  that  it  was  past  twelve  o'clock,  and  that  Sir  Robert, 
who  had  become  worse,  had  retired  to  bed  early  in  the 
evening. 


384  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"And  where  are  my  aunt  and  cousin?"  demanded  Pem- 
broke. 

One  of  the  men  replied  that,  in  consequence  of  Miss 
Beaufort  having  been  taken  suddenly  indisposed,  both  the 
ladies  left  the  saloon  before  eleven.  Pembroke  readily 
guessed  the  cause  of  her  disorder;  he  too  truly  ascribed  it 
to  Mary's  anxiety  respecting  the  reception  which  the  noble 
Sobieski  would  give  to  his  disgraceful  proposition.  Sigh- 
ing bitterly,  he  said  no  more,  but  went  to  his  chamber. 

The  restless  state  of  his  mind  awoke  Mr.  Somerset  by 
times.  Anxious  for  the  success  of  an  application  which 
he  intended  to  make  to  his  beloved  cousin,  whose  pure 
and  virgin  heart  he  believed  did  indeed  here  sympathize 
with  his  own,  he  traversed  the  terrace  for  an  hour  before 
he  was  summoned  to  breakfast.  The  baronet  continuing 
too  ill  to  leave  his  room,  the  ladies  only  were  in  the  parlor 
when  he  entered.  Miss  Dorothy,  who  had  learned  the 
particulars  of  the  late  events  from  her  niece,  longed  to 
ask  Pembroke  how  his  noble  friend  would  act  on  her 
brother's  so  strange  and  lamentable  conduct — conduct  so 
unlike  himself  in  any  other  circumstance  of  gratitude  in 
his  life.  But  every  time  she  moved  her  lips  to  inquire, 
her  nephew's  inflamed  eyes  and  wan  countenance  made 
her  fear  to  venture  on  the  subject.  Mary  sat  in  mute 
dejection,  watching  the  agitation  of  his  features;  and 
when  he  rose  to  quit  the  room,  still  in  silence,  she  looked 
wistfully  toward  him.  Pembroke  turned  at  the  same 
moment,  and  holding  out  his  hand  to  her,  said,  "Come, 
Mary:  I  want  to  say  something  to  you.  Will  you  walk 
with  me  on  the  terrace?" 

With  a  beating  heart  Miss  Beaufort  took  his  arm,  and 
proceeded  without  a  word  until  they  ascended  the  stone 
6teps  and  reached  the  terrace.  A  mutual  deep-drawn 
sigh  was  the  first  opening  to  a  conversation  on  which  the 
souls  of  both  hung.     Pembroke  was  the  first  who  spoke. 

"My  dear  Mary,"  cried  he,  "you  are  now  my  sole  de- 
pendence. From  what  I  told  you  yesterday  of  my  father's 
inflexibility,  we  can  have  no  hope  of  his  relenting:  indeed, 
after  what  has  passed,  I  could  not  flatter  myself  that 
Thaddeus  Sobieski  would  now  submit  to  any  obligation  at 
his  hands.  Already  he  has  refused,  with  all  the  indigna- 
tion I  expected,  Sir  Kobert's  offer  of  an  annuity.  My 
dear  cousin,  how  can  I  exist  asd  yet  witness  this  my  hmt 


TEADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  385 

friend  in  distress,  and  living  without  the  snccor  of  my 
friendship?  Heaven  knows,  this  cannot  be  the  case,  for  I 
would  sooner  perish  than  venture  to  insult  the  man  my 
father  has  treated  so  ill  with  any  pecuniary  offers  from 
me!  Therefore,  dear  girl,  it  is  on  you  alone  that  I  de- 
pend. With  his  whole  soul,  as  our  marriage  service  says, 
Thadd«us 'worships  yon;'  you  love  him!  In  a  few  days 
you  will  become  of  age.  You  will  be  your  own  mistress. 
'  Marry  him,  my  beloved  cousin,"  cried  Pembroke,  pressing 
her  hand  to  his  lips,  "and  relieve  my  heart  from  a  load  of 
misery!  Be  generous,  my  sweet  Mary,"  added  he,  sup- 
porting her  now  trembling  frame  against  his  breast;  "act 
up  to  your  noble  nature,  and  offer  him,  by  me,  that  hand 
which  his  calamities  and  disinterestedness  preclude  him 
from  wooing  himself." 

Miss  Beaufort,  hardly  able  to  articulate,  replied,  "I 
would  give  him  all  that  I  possess  could  it  purchase  him 
one  tranquil  hour.  I  would  serve  him  forever  could  I 
do  it  and  be  unknown;  but " 

"Oh,  do  not  hesitate — do  not  doubt!"  interrupted 
Pembroke.  "To  serve  your  friends,  I  know  you  are 
capable  of  the  most  extraordinary  exertions.  I  know  there 
is  nothing  within  the  range  of  possibility  that  your  gener- 
ous disposition  Avould  not  attempt;  then,  my  beloved 
Mary,  dare  to  be  what  you  are,  by  having  the  magnanim- 
ity to  act  as  you  know  you  ought — by  offering  your  hand 
to  him.  Show  the  noble  Sobieski  that  you  really  deserve 
the  devotion  of  a  hero's  heart — deserve  to  be  his  consola- 
tion, who,  in  losing  his  mother,  lost  an  angel  like  your- 
self." 

"Dear  Pembroke,"  replied  Miss  Beaufort,  wiping  the 
gliding  tears  from  her  burning  cheek,  "after  the  confes- 
sion which  you  drew  from  me  yesterday,  I  will  not  deny 
that  to  be  this  to  your  friend  would  render  me  the  hap- 
piest of  created  beings;  bat  I  cannot  believe  what  your 
sanguine  affection  tells  me.  I  cannot  suppose,  situated  as 
I  was  at  Lady  Dundas',  surrounded  by  frivolous  and  con- 
temptible society,  that  he  could  discover  anything  in  me 
to  warrant  such  a  vanity.  Every  way  embarrassed  as  I 
was,  disliking  my  companions,  afraid  of  my  own  interest 
in  him,  a  veil  was  drawn  over  my  mind,  through  which 
he  could  neither  judge  of  my  good  nor  bad  qualities. 
J  [ow,  then,  can  I  flatter  myself,  or  do  the  Count  Sobieski 


386  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

so  great  an  injury,  as  to  imagine  that  he  could  conceive 
any  preference  for  so  insignificant  a  being  as  I  must  have 
appeared?" 

It  was  some  time  before  Pembroke  could  shake  this 
prepossession  of  a  sincere  humility  from  Miss  Beaufort's 
mind.  But  after  having  set  in  every  possible  light  the 
terms  with  which  his  friend  had  spoken  of  her,  he  at 
length  convinced  her  of  what  her  heart  so  earnestly  wished 
to  believe — that  the  love  of  Sobieski  was  indeed  hers. 

Mr.  Somerset's  next  achievement  was  to  overcome  her 
scruples  against  sanctioning  him  with  the  commission  he 
was  bent  on  communicating  to  Thaddeus.  But  from  the 
continual  recurrence  of  her  apprehensions  that  the  warm 
affection  of  her  cousin  had  too  highly  colored  the  first 
part  of  his  representation,  this  latter  task  was  not  more 
easy  to  accomplish  than  the  former. 

In  vain  she  remonstrated,  in  vain  she  doubted,  in  vain 
demurred.  Pembroke  would  not  be  denied.  He  saw 
her  heart  was  with  him;  and  when  with  faltering  lips  she 
assented  to  the  permission,  which  he  almost  extorted,  she 
threw  her  arms  round  his  neck,  and  implored  him,  "by 
all  he  loved  and  honored,  to  be  careful  of  her  peace;  to 
remember  that  she  put  into  his  charge  all  that  was  most 
precious  to  woman — the  modesty  of  her  sex  and  her  own 
self-esteem !" 

Delighted  at  this  consent,  notwithstanding  he  received 
it  through  the  medium  of  many  tears,  he  fondly  and 
gratefully  pressed  her  to  his  bosom,  uttering  his  own 
soul's  fervent  conviction  of  a  future  domestic  happiness 
to  them  all.  Having  stood  till  he  saw  her  reenter  the 
house  from  a  door  on  the  terrace,  he  mounted  his  horse 
and  set  off  on  the  spur  toward  Harrowby  Hill. 


CHAPTER  XLIV. 

LETTERS   OF   FAREWELL. 

When  Thaddeus  recovered  from  the  reverie  into  which 
he  fell  on  the  departure  of  Mr.  Somerset,  he  considered 
how  he  might  remove  out  of  a  country  in  which  he  had 
only  (not  with  unci  o<'Oasi"nrr]  >li-i'V.s,s. 


THADDEUS  OP  WARSAW.  38? 

The  horrid  price  that  Pembroke's  father  harl  set  on  the 
continuance  of  his  son's  friendship  with  a  powerless  exile 
was  his  curse.  Whatever  might  have  been  the  injury  any 
individual  of  now  annihilated  Poland  could,  in  its  palmy 
davs  of  independence,  and  sometimes  pride,  inflict  on  this 
implacable  Englishman,  of  a  nature  that  appeared  to  have 
blinded  him  to  even  human  feeling,  Thaddeus  felt  so  true 
an  indignation  against  such  cruel  injustice,  and  so  much 
of  a  contrary  sentiment  toward  the  noble  son  of  this  hard 
parent,  that  he  determined  to  at  once  relieve  the  warring 
mind  of  Pembroke  of  any  further  conflict  on  his  account 
by  immediately  quitting  England.  Averse  to  a  second 
interview  with  a  friend  so  justly  beloved,  which  could  only 
produce  them  new  pangs,  he  resolved  on  instant  prepara- 
tions— that  another  morn  should  not  rise  upon  him  in  the 
neighborhood  of  Somerset  Castle.  Taking  up  a  pen,  with 
all  the  renewed  loneliness  of  his  fate  brooding  on  his  heart, 
he  wrote  two  letters. 

One  he  addressed  to  Mr.  Somerset,  bidding  him  that 
farewell  which  he  confessed  he  could  never  take.  As  he 
wrote,  his  hand  trembled,  his  bosom  swelled,  and  he  hastily 
shut  his  eyelids,  to  withhold  his  tears  from  showing  them- 
selves on  the  paper.  His  emotion,  his  grief,  were  driven 
back,  were  concealed,  but  the  tenderness  of  his  soul  flowed 
over  the  letter.  He  forgave  Pembroke's  father  for  Pem- 
broke's sake;  and  in  spite  of  their  personal  disunion,  he 
vowed  that  no  earthly  power  should  restrain  his  love  from 
following  the  steps  of  his  friend,  even  into  the  regions  of 
eternity.  He  closed  his  melancholy  epistle  with  inform- 
ing Mr.  Somerset  that,  as  he  should  quit  not  only  England 
directly,  but  Europe,  any  search  after  him  which  his  gen- 
erous nature  might  dictate  would  be  in  vain. 

Though  Thaddeus  Sobieski  would  have  disdained  a  life 
of  dependence  on  the  greatest  potentate  of  the  world; 
though  he  rejected  with  the  same  sincerity  a  similar  pro- 
posal from  his  friend,  and  despised  the  degrading  offer  of 
Sir  Kobert,  yet  he  did  not  disparage  his  dignity,  nor  in- 
fringe on  the  disinterested  nature  of  friendship,  when  he 
retained  the  money  which  Pembroke  had  conveyed  to  him 
in  prison.  Thaddeus  never  acted  but  from  principle. 
His  honorable  and  penetrating  mind  knew  exactly  at  what 
point  to  draw  the  tender  thread  of  delicacy — the  cord  of 
independence.     But  pride  and    independence  were    with 


388  TUADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

him  distinct  terms.  Keceiving  assistance  from  a  friend 
and  leaning  on  him  wholly  for  support  have  different 
meanings.  He  accepted  the  first  with  gratitude;  he 
would  have  thought  it  impossible  to  live  and  endure  the 
last.  Indeed,  Thaddeus  would  have  considered  himself 
unworthy  to  confer  a  benefit  if  he  had  not  known  how  to 
receive  one.  But  had  not  Pembroke  told  him  "the  whole 
gift  was  Mary  Beaufort's?"'  And  what  were  his  emotions 
then?  They  were  full  of  an  ineffable  sense  of  happiness 
inexplicable  to  himself.  Mary  Beaufort  was  the  donor, 
and  it  was  bliss  to  have  it  so,  and  to  know  it  was  so.  With 
these  impressions  again  throbbing  at  his  heart  he  began  a 
short  letter  to  her,  which  he  felt  must  crush  that  heart 
forever : 

"To  Miss  Beaufokt. 

"My  faculties  lose  their  power  when  I  take  up  my  pen 
to  address,  for  the  first  and  the  last  time,  Miss  Beaufort. 
I  hardly  know  what  I  would  say — what  I  ought  to  say;  I 
dare  not  venture  to  write  all  that  I  feel.  But  have  you  not 
been  my  benefactress?  Did  you  not  assert  my  character 
and  give  me  liberty  when  I  was  calumniated  and  in  dis- 
tress? Did  you  not  ward  from  me  the  scorn  of  unpitying 
folly?  Did  you  not  console  me  with  your  own  compas- 
sion? You  have  done  all  this;  and  surely  you  will  not 
despise  the  gratitude  of  a  heart  which  you  have  conde- 
scended to  soothe  and  to  comfort.  At  least  I  cannot  leave 
England  forever  without  imploring  blessings  on  the  head 
of  Miss  Beaufort,  without  thanking  her  on  my  knees,  on 
which  I  am  writing,  for  that  gracious  and  benign  spirit 
which  discovered  a  breaking  heart  under  the  mask  of 
serenity,  which  penetrated  through  the  garb  of  poverty 
and  dependence,  and  saw  that  the  condemned  Constantine 
was  not  what  he  seemed !  Your  smiles,  Miss  Beaufort, 
your  voice  speaking  commiseration,  were  my  sweetest  con- 
solations during  those  heavy  months  of  bitterness  which 
I  endured  at  Dundas  House.  I  contemplated  you  as  a 
pitying  angel,  sent  to  reconcile  me  to  a  life  which  had 
already  become  a  burden.  These  are  the  benefits  which 
Miss  Beaufort  has  bestowed  on  a  friendless  exile;  these  are 
the  benefits  which  she  has  bestowed  on  me!  and  they  are 
written  on  my  soul.  Not  until  I  go  down  into  the  grave 
can  they  be  forgotten.  Ah!  not  even  then,  for  when  I 
rise  again,  I  shall  find  them  still  registered  there. 


THADDEUS  OP  WARSAW.  389 

"Farewell,  most  respected,  most  dear,  most  honored! 
My  passing  soul  seems  in  those  words.  Oh,  may  the 
Father  of  heaven  bless  with  his  almighty  care  her  whose 
name  will  ever  be  the  first  and  the  last  in  the  prayer  of 
the  far-distant 

"Thaddeus  Constantike  Sobieski. 

"Harrowby  Village,  midnight." 

When  he  had  finished  this  epistle,  with  a  tremulous 
hand  he  consigned  it  to  the  same  cover  that  contained  his 
letter  to  Somerset.  Then  writing  a  few  lines  to  the 
worthy  master  of  the  inn  (the  brother-in-law  of  the  faith- 
ful servant  of  his  late  lamented  maternal  friend),  saying 
that  a  sudden  occasion  had  required  his  immediate  de- 
parture at  that  untimely  hour,  he  inclosed  a  liberal  com- 
pensation in  gold  for  the  attentive  services  of  both  the 
honest  man  and  his  warm-hearted  wife.  Having  sealed 
each  packet,  he  disposed  them  so  on  the  table  that  they 
might  be  the  first  things  seen  on  entering  the  room. 

He  had  fixed  on  deep  night  as  the  securest  time  for 
commencing  unobserved  his  pedestrian  tour.  The  moon 
was  now  full,  and  would  be  a  sufficient  guide,  he  thought, 
on  his  solitary  way.  He  had  determined  to  walk  to  Lon- 
don by  the  least  public  paths;  meaning  to  see  kind  Mrs. 
Eobson,  and  bid  her  a  grateful  farewell  before  he  should 
embark,  probably  never  to  return,  for  America. 

He  had  prepared  his  slender  baggage  before  he  sat  down 
to  write  the  two  letters  which  had  cost  him  so  many  pangs; 
compressed  within  a  light  black  leather  traveling-bag,  he 
fastened  it  over  his  shoulders  by  its  buckled  straps,  in  the 
manner  of  a  soldier's  knapsack.  He  then  put  the  mem- 
orandum-book which  contained  his  "world's  wealth,''  now 
to  be  carefully  husbanded,  into  a  concealed  pocket  in  the 
breast  of  his  waistcoat,  feeling,  while  he  pressed  it  down 
upon  his  heart,  that  his  mother's  locket  and  Miss  Beau- 
fort's chain  kept  guard  over  it. 

"Ah!"  cried  he  as  he  gently  closed  the  low  window  by 
which  he  leaped  into  the  garden,  "England,  I  leave  thee 
forever,  and  within  thee  all  that  on  this  earth  had  been 
left  to  me  to  love.  Driven  from  thee!  Nay,  driven  as  if 
I  were  another  Cain,  from  the  face  of  every  spot  of  earth 
that  ever  had  been  or  would  be  dear  to  me!  Oh,  woe  to 
them  who  began  the  course.     And  thou,  Austria,  ungrate- 


390  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

fnl  leader  in  the  destruction  of  the  country  which  more 
than  once  was  thy  preserver ! — could  there  be  any  marvel 
that  the  last  of  the  Sobieskis  should  perish  with  her? 
What  accumulated  sins  must  rest  on  thy  head,  thou 
seducer  of  other  nations  into  the  spoliation  and  dismem- 
berment of  the  long-proved  bulwark  of  Christendom! 
Assuredly,  every  hasty  sigh  that  rebels  in  the  breasts  of 
Poland's  outcast  sons  against  the  mystery  of  her  doom  will 
plead  against  thee  at  the  judgment-seat  of  Heaven!" 

He  went  on  at  rapid  pace  through  several  fields,  his 
heart  and  soul  full  of  those  remembrances,  and  the  direful 
echoes  to  them  he  had  met  in  England.  Stopping  a 
moment  at  the  boundary-gate  of  the  Harrowby  domains — ■ 
the  property  of  a  disgraceful  owner  of  a  name  that  might 
have  been  his,  had  not  his  nobler  mother  preserved  to  him 
that  of  Sobieski — he  stretched  out  his  arms  to  the  heavens, 
over  which  a  bleak  northwest  wind  was  suddenly  collecting 
dark  and  spreading  clouds,  and  exclaimed,  in  earnest  sup- 
plication, "Oh,  righteous  Power  of  Mercy!  in  thy  chasten- 
ing, grant  me  fortitude  to  bear  with  resignation  to  thy 
will  the  miseries  I  may  yet  have  to  encounter.  Ah!" 
added  he,  his  heart  melting  as  the  images  presented  them- 
selves even  as  visions  to  his  soul,  "teach  me  to  forget  what 
I  have  been.  Teach  me  to  forget  that  on  this  dreadful 
October  night  twelve  months  ago  I  clasped  the  dying 
body  of  my  revered  grandfather  in  these  arms!" 

He  could  not  speak  further.  Leaning  his  pale  face 
against  the  gate,  he  remained  for  a  few  minutes  dissolved 
in  all  a  son's  sorrow;  then,  recovering  himself  by  a  sud- 
den start,  he  proceeded  with  hurried  steps  through  the 
further  extending  meadows  until  they  conducted  him  by 
a  short  village  lane  into  the  high-road. 

It  was  on  the  10th  of  October,  1795,  that  the  Count 
Sobieski  commenced  this  lonely  and  melancholy  journey. 
It  was  the  10th  of  October  in  the  preceding  year  that  he 
found  the  veteran  palatine  bleeding  to  death  in  the  midst 
of  a  heap  of  slain.  The  coincidence  of  his  renewed  ban- 
ishment and  present  consequent  mental  sufferings  with 
those  of  that  fatal  period  powerfully  affected  him,  recall- 
ing, in  the  vivid  colors  of  an  actual  existence,  scenes  and 
griefs  which  the  numerous  successive  events  he  had  passed 
through  had  considerably  toned  down  into  dream-like 
shades. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  391 

Bnt  now,  when  memory,  by  one  unexpected  stroke,  had 
once  conjured  up  the  happy  past  of  his  early  life  and  its 
as  early  blighting,  true  to  her  nature,  she  raised  before 
his  mind's  eye  every  hope  connected  with  it  and  his  pres- 
ent doom,  till,  almost  distracted,  he  quickened  his  speed. 
He  then  slackened  it;  he  quickened  it  again;  but  nothing 
could  rid  him  of  those  successive  images  which  seemed  to 
glide  around  him  like  mournful  apparitions  of  the  long- 
lamented  dead. 

When  the  dawn  broke  and  the  sun  rose,  he  found  him- 
self advanced  several  miles  on  the  south  side  of  Ponton 
Hill.  The  spiry  aisles  of  Harrowby  abbey  were  discern- 
ible through  the  mist,  and  the  towers  of  Somerset  Castle, 
from  their  height  and  situation,  were  as  distinctly  seen 
as  if  he  had  been  at  their  base.  Neither  of  these  objects 
were  calculated  to  raise  the  spirits  of  Thaddeus.  The 
sorrows  of  the  countess,  whose  eyes  he  so  recently  had 
closed,  and  the  treatment  which  he  afterward  received 
from  the  man  to  whom  he  owed  his  life,  were  recollections 
which  made  him  turn  from  the  abbey  with  a  renewed 
pang  and  fix  his  eyes  on  Somerset.  He  looked  toward  its 
ivied  battlements  with  all  the  regret  and  all  the  tender- 
ness which  can  overflow  a  human  heart.  Under  that  roof 
he  believed  the  eyes  of  his  almost,  indeed,  worshiped 
Mary  were  sealed  in  sleep ;  and  in  an  instant  his  agitated 
soul  addressed  her  as  if  she  had  been  present. 

''Farewell,  most  lovely,  most  beloved!  The  conviction 
that  it  is  to  insure  the  peace  of  my  now  only  friend  on 
earth,  my  faithful  Pembroke,  that  I  resign  the  hope  of 
ever  beholding  thee  again  in  this  life,  will  bring  me  one 
comfort,  at  least,  in  my  barren  exile!" 

Thus  communing  with  his  troubled  spirit,  he  walked 
the  whole  day  on  his  way  to  London.  Totally  absorbed  in 
meditation,  he  did  not  remark  the  gaze  of  curiosity  which 
followed  his  elegant  yet  distressed  figure  as  he  passed 
through  the  different  towns  and  villages.  Musing  on  the 
past,  the  present,  and  the  future,  he  neither  felt  hunger 
nor  thirst,  but,  with  a  fixed  eye  and  abstracted  countenance, 
pursued  his  route  until  night  and  weariness  overtook  him 
near  a  cross-road,  far  away  from  any  house. 

Thaddeus  looked  around  and  above.  The  sky  was  th<?a 
clear  and  glittering  with  stars;  the  moon,  shining  ©n  a 
branch  of  the  Ouse,  which  divides  Leicestershire  tr</m 


392  TBADDEU8  OF  WAR8A  W. 

Northamptonshire,  lit  the  green  heath  which  skirted  its 
banks.  He  wished  not  for  a  more  magnificent  canopy ; 
and  placing  his  bag  under  his  head,  he  laid  himself  down 
beneath  a  hillock  of  furze,  and  slept  till  morning. 

When  he  awoke  from  a  heavy  sleep,  which  fatigue  and 
fasting  had  rendered  more  oppressive  than  refreshing,  he 
found  that  the  splendors  of  the  night  were  succeeded  by  a 
heavy  rain,  and  that  he  was  wet  through.  He  arose  with 
stiffness  in  his  limbs,  pain  in  his  head,  and  a  dimness  over 
his  eyes,  with  a  sense  of  weakness  which  almost  disabled 
him  from  moving.  He  readily  judged  that  he  had  caught 
cold;  and  every  moment  feeling  himself  grow  worse,  he 
thought  it  necessary  to  seek  some  house  where  he  might 
procure  rest  and  assistance. 

Leaning  on  his  closed  umbrella,  which,  in  his  precarious 
circumstances  of  traveling,  he  used  in  preference  to  a 
walking-stick,  and  no  longer  able  to  incumber  himself 
with  even  the  light  load  of  his  bag,  he  cast  it  among  the 
brambles  near  him.  Thinking,  from  the  symptoms  he 
felt,  that  he  might  not  have  many  more  hours  to  endure 
the  ills  of  life,  he  staggered  a  few  yards  further.  No 
habitation  appeared;  his  eyes  soon  seemed  totally  obscured, 
and  he  sank  down  on  a  bank.  For  a  minute  he  attempted 
to  struggle  with  the  cold  grasp  of  death,  which  he  be- 
lieved was  fastening  on  his  heart. 

"And  are  my  days  to  be  so  short — are  they  to  end  thus?" 
was  the  voice  of  his  thoughts — for  he  was  speechless. 
"Oh!  thou  merciful  Providence,  pardon  my  repining,  and 
those  who  have  brought  me  to  this !  My  only  Father, 
hear  me!" 

These  were  the  last  movements  of  his  soundless  lips, 
while  his  blood  seemed  freezing  to  insensibility.  His 
eyelids  were  closed,  and  pale,  and  without  sign  of  anima- 
tion, he  lay  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  nigh  which  he  had 
dropped. 

He  remained  a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  this  dead-like  state 
'«»fore  he  was 'observed ;  at  length,  a  gentleman  who  was 
passing  along  that  road,  on  his  way  to  his  country-seat  _  in 
the  neighborhood,  thought  he  perceived  a  man  lying 
among  the  high  grass  a  little  onward  on  the  heath.  He 
stopped  his  carriage  instantly,  though  driven  by  four 
spirited  horses,  and  ordering  one  of  the  outriders  to  alight, 
bade  him  examine  whether'the  object  in  view  were  living 
or  dead. 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  3<tf 

The  servant  obeyed;  and  presently  returning  with  an 
affrighted  countenance,  he  informed  his  master  that  "it 
was  the  body  of  a  young  man,  who,  by  his  dress,  appeared 
to  be  a  gentleman;  and  being  quite  senseless,  he  supposed 
he  had  been  waylaid  and  murdered  by  footpads."  The 
features  of  the  benevolent  inquirer  immediately  reflected 
the  alarm  of  his  informant.  Ordering  the  chariot  door  to 
be  opened,  he  took  in  his  hand  a  bottle  of  medicine  (which 
from  his  own  invalid  state  was  his  carriage  companion), 
and,  stepping  out,  hastened  to  the  side  of  the  apparently 
lifeless  Thaddeus. 

By  this  time  all  the  servants  were  collected  round  the 
spot.  The  master  himself,  while  he  gazed  with  pity  on 
the  marble  features  of  the  stranger,  observed  with  pleasure 
that  he  saw  no  marks  of  violence.  Supposing  that  the 
present  accident  might  have  been  occasioned  by  a  fit,  and 
thinking  it  possible  to  recall  life,  he  desired  that  the  un- 
fortunate person's  neck-cloth  might  be  unloosened,  and 
removing  his  hat,  he  contrived  to  pour  some  drops  into 
his  mouth.  Their  warmth  renewed  pulsation  to  the  heart, 
for  one  of  the  men,  who  was  stooping,  declared  that  it 
beat  under  his  hand.  When  the  benevolent  gentleman 
was  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  this  report,  he  bade  his  serv- 
ants place  the  poor  traveler  in  his  carriage;  having  only 
another  mile  or  two  to  go,  he  said  he  hoped  his  charge 
might  be  restored  at  the  end  of  so  short  a  drive. 

While  the  postilions  drove  rapidly  toward  the  house, 
the  cold  face  of  Thaddeus  rested  on  the  bosom  of  his  bene- 
factor, who  continued  to  chafe  his  temples  with  eau  de 
Cologne  until  the  chariot  stopped  before  the  gates.  The 
men  carried  the  count  into  the  house,  and  leaving  him 
with  their  master  and  a  medical  man,  who  resided  near, 
other  restoratives  were  applied  which  in  a  short  time 
restored  him  to  consciousness.  When  he  was  recalled  to 
recollection,  and  able  to  distinguish  objects,  he  saw  that 
he  was  supported  by  two  gentlemen,  and  in  a  spacious 
ehamber. 

Gratitude  was  an  active  virtue  in  the  soul  of  Thaddeus. 
At  the  moment  of  his  awakening  from  that  sleep  which, 
when  it  fell  upon  him,  he  believed  would  last  until  time 
should  be  lost  in  eternity,  he  pressed  the  hands  of  those 
who  held  his  own,  not  doubting  but  that  they  were  the 
good  Samaritans  who  had  preserved  him  from  perishing. 


394  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

The  younger  of  the  gentlemen,  perceiving,  by  the  ani- 
mated luster  which  spread  over  his  patient's  eyes,  that  he 
was  going  to  speak,  put  his  hand  on  his  lips,  and  said, 
"Pardon  me,  sir,  you  must  be  mute!  Your  life  at  present 
hangs  on  a  thread ;  the  slightest  exertion  might  snap  it. 
As  all  you  want  is  rest  and  resuscitation  to  supply  some 
great  loss  which  the  vital  powers  have  sustained,  I  must 
require  that  you  neither  speak  nor  be  spoken  to  until  I 
give_  permission.  Meanwhile,  be  satisfied,  sir,  that  you 
are  in  the  kindest  hands.  This  gentleman,"  added  he, 
pointing  to  his  friend,  who  bore  the  noble  presence  of 
high  rank,  "saw  you  on  the  heath,  and  brought  you  to 
his  house,  where  you  now  are." 

Thaddeus  bowed  his  head  to  them  both  in  sign  of 
obedience  and  gratitude,  and  the  elder,  with  a  kind  bend 
of  his  mild  eyes,  in  silence  left  the  room. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

DEERHURST. 

Next  morning,  when  the  seal  was  taken  off  the  lips  of 
the  object  of  their  care,  he  expressed  in  grateful  terms  his 
deep  sense  of  the  humanity  Avhich  had  actuated  both  the 
gentlemen  to  take  so  generous  an  interest  in  his  fate. 

"You  owe  no  thanks  to  me,"  replied  the  one  who  had 
enjoined  and  released  him  from  silence,  and  who  was  now 
alone  with  him;  "I  am  only  the  agent  of  another.  Yet  I 
do  not  deny  that,  in  obeying  the  benevolent  orders  of  Sir 
Robert  Somerset,  I  have  frequent  opportunities  of  grati- 
fying my  own  heart." 

Thaddeus  was  so  confounded  at  this  discovery  that  he 
could  not  speak,  and  the  gentleman  proceeded. 

"I  am  apothecary  to  Sir  Robert's  household,  and  as 
my  excellent  employer  has  been  long  afflicted  with  an  ill 
state  of  health,  I  live  in  a  small  lodge  at  the  other  end  o€ 
the  park.  He  is  the  boast  of  the  county:  the  best  land- 
lord and  the  kindest  neighbor.  All  ranks  of  people  love 
him;  and  when  he  dies  (which  his  late  apoplectic  fits  make 
it  too  probable  may  be  soon),  both  poor  and  rich  will  lose 
their  friend.     Ill  as  he  was  this  morning,  when  I  told  him 


TEADDEXTS  OF  WARSAW.  395 

yon  were  out  of  danger,  he  expressed  a  pleasnre  which 
did  him  more  good  than  all  my  medicines." 

Not  considering  the  wildness  of  the  question,  Thaddens 
hastily  demanded,  "Does  he  know  who  I  am?" 

The  honest  apothecary  stared  at  the  look  and  tone  with 
which  these  words  were  delivered,  and  then  replied,  "No, 
sir;  is  there  any  reason  to  make  you  wish  that  he  should 
not?" 

"Certainly  none,"  replied  Thaddens,  recollecting  him- 
self; "but  I  shall  be  impatient  until  I  have  an  oppor- 
tunity of  telling  him  how  grateful  I  am  for  the  goodness 
he  has  shown  to  me  as  a  stranger." 

Surprised  at  these  hints  (which  the  count,  not  consider- 
ing their  tendency,  allowed  to  escape  him),  the  apothecary 
gathered  sufficient  from  them,  united  with  the  speaker's 
superior  mien,  to  make  him  suppose  that  his  patient  was 
some  emigrant  of  quality,  whom  Sir  Robert  wonld  rejoice 
in  having  served.  These  surmises  and  conclusions  having 
passed  quickly  through  the  worthy  gentleman's  brain,  he 
bowed  his  head  with  that  respect  which  the  generous  mind 
is  proud  to  pay  to  nobility  in  ruins,  and  resumed: 

"Whoever  you  may  be,  sir,  a  peasant  or  a  prince,  you 
will  meet  with  British  hospitality  from  the  noble  owner 
of  this  mansion.  The  magnificence  of  his  spirit  is  equaled 
by  the  goodness  of  his  heart;  and  I  am  certain  that  Sir 
Robert  will  consider  as  fortunate  the  severe  attack  which, 
bringing  him  from  Somerset  for  change  of  air,  has  afforded 
him  an  opportunity  of  serving  you." 

Thaddens  blushed  at  the  strain  of  this  speech.  Readily 
understanding  what  was  passing  in  the  mind  of  the  apothe- 
cary, he  hardly  knew  what  to  reply.  He  paused  for  a 
moment,  and  then  said,  "All  you  have  declared,  sir,  in 
praise  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset  I  cannot  doubt  is  deserving. 
I  have  already  felt  the  effects  of  his  humanity,  and  shall 
ever  remember  that  my  life  was  prolonged  by  his  means; 
but  I  have  no  pretensions  to  the  honor  of  his  acquaintance. 
I  only  wish  to  see  him,  that  I  may  thank  him  for  what  he 
has  done;  therefore,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  rise  this 
evening,  instead  of  to-morrow  morning,  you  will  oblige 
me."  ' 

To  this  request  the  apothecary  gave  a  respectful  yet 
firm  denial,  and  went  downstairs  to  communicate  his 
observations    to    his  patron.     When    he    returned,     ho 


306  TEADDEUS  OFWA  R8A  W. 

brought  back  a  request  to  his  patient  from  the  baronet, 
even  as  a  personal  consideration  for  his  host's  solicitude 
concerning  him,  to  remain  quietly  in  the  perfect  repose 
of  his  closed  chamber  until  next  day;  then  it  might  be 
hoped  Sir  Eobert  would  find  him  sufficiently  recovered  to 
receive  his  visit  without  risk.  To  this  Sobieski  could  not 
but  assent,  in  common  courtesy,  as  well  as  in  grateful 
feeling;  yet  he  passed  in  anything  but  repose  the  rest  of 
the  day,  and  the  anxiety  which  continued  to  agitate  him 
while  reflecting  that  he  was  receiving  these  obligations 
from  his  implacable  enemy  so  occupied  and  disturbed  him, 
that  he  spent  a  sleepless  night.  The  dawn  found  his  fever 
much  augmented;  but  no  corporeal  sufferings  could  per- 
suade him  to  defer  seeing  the  baronet  and  immediately 
leaving  his  house.  Believing,  as  he  did,  that  all  this 
kindness  would  have  been  withheld  had  his  host  known 
on  whom  he  was  pouring  such  benefits,  he  thought  that 
every  minute  which  passed  over  him  while  under  Sir 
Kobert's  roof  inflicted  a  new  outrage  on  his  own  respect 
and  honor. 

To  this  end,  then,  as  soon  as  Mr.  Middleton,  the  apothe- 
cary, retired  to  breakfast,  Thaddeus  rose  from  his  bed, 
and  was  completely  dressed  before  he  returned.  He  had 
effected  this  without  any  assistance,  for  he  was  in  posses- 
sion of  his  traveling-bag.  One  of  the  outriders  having 
discerned  it  among  the  herbage,  while  the  others  were 
busied  in  carrying  its  helpless  owner  to  the  carriage,  he 
had  picked  it  up,  and  on  the  arrival  of  the  party  at  home, 
delivered  it  to  the  baronet's  valet  to  convey  to  the  invalid 
gentleman's  chamber,  justly  considering  that  he  would, 
require  its  contents. 

When  Mr.  Middleton  reentered  the  apartment,  and  saw 
his  patient  not  only  risen  from  his  bed,  but  so  completely 
dressed,  he  expostulated  on  the  rashness  of  what  he  had 
done,  and  augured  no  less  than  a  dangerous  relapse  from 
the  present  increased  state  of  his  pulse.  Thaddeus,  for 
once  in  his  life,  was  obstinate,  though  civilly  so;  and 
desiring  a  servant  to  request  that  Sir  Eobert  would  indulge 
him  with  an  audience  for  a  few  minutes  alone  in  his 
library,  he  soon  convinced  Mr.  Middleton  that  his  purpose 
was  not  to  be  shaken. 

The  baronet  returning  his  compliments,  and  saying 
fchat  be  should  be  happy  to  see  his  guest,  the  still  anxious 


THADDKUB  OF  WARSAW.  397 

apothecary  offered  him  his  assistance  downstairs.  Thad- 
deus  needed  no  help,  and  gratefully  declined  it.  The 
exertion  necessary  to  be  summoned  for  this  interview 
imparted  as  much  momentary  strength  to  his  frame  as  to 
his  mind,  and  though  his  color  was  heightened,  he  entered 
the  library  with  a  firm  step. 

Sir  Robert  met  him  at  the  door,  and,  shaking  him  by 
the  hand  with  a  warm  assurance  of  pleasure  at  so  rapid  a 
restoration,  would  have  led  him  to  a  seat;  but  Thaddens 
only  supported  himself  against  the  back  of  it  with  his 
hand,  while  in  a  steady  voice  he  expressed  the  most  earnest 
thanks  for  the  benefits  he  had  received;  then  pausing, 
and  casting  the  proud  luster  of  his  eyes  to  the  ground, 
lest  their  language  should  tell  all  that  he  thought,  he 
continued,  "I  have  only  to  regret,  Sir  Eobert,  that  your 
benevolence  has  been  lavished  on  a  man  whom  you  regard 
with  abhorrence.  I  am  the  Count  Sobieski,  that  Polander 
whom  you  commanded  your  son  to  see  no  more.  Respect- 
ing even  the  prejudices  of  my  friend's  parent,  I  was 
hastening  to  London,  meaning  to  set  sail  for  America  with 
the  first  ship,  when  I  swooned  on  the  road.  I  believe  I 
was  expiring.  Your  humanity  saved  me;  and  I  now  owe 
to  gratitude,  as  well  as  to  my  own  satisfaction,  the  fulfill- 
ment of  my  determination.  I  shall  leave  Deerhurst 
immediately,  and  England  as  soon  as  I  am  able  to  em- 
bark." 

Thaddeus  with  a  second  bow,  and  not  quite  so  firm  a 
step,  without  venturing  a  glance  at  what  he  supposed 
must  be  the  abashed  or  the  enraged  looks  of  Pembroke's 
father,  was  preparing  to  quit  the  room,  when  Sir  Robert, 
with  a  pale  and  ghastly  countenance,  exclaimed,  "Stop!" 
»  Thaddeus  looked  round,  and  struck  by  the  change  in 
/his  preserver's  appearance,  paused  in  his  movement.  The 
baronet,  incapable  of  saying  more,  pointed  to  a  chair  for 
him  to  sit  down;  then  sinking  into  another  himself,  took 
out  his  handkerchief,  and  wiping  away  the  large  drops 
which  stood  on  his  forehead,  panted  for  respiration.  At 
last,  with  a  desperate  kind  of  haste,  he  said. 

"Was  your  mother  indeed  Therese  Sobieski?" 

Thaddeus,  still  more  astonished,  replied  in  the  affirma- 
tive. Sir  Robert  threw  himself  back  on  the  chair  with  a 
deep  groan.  Hardly  knowing  what  he  did,  the  count  rose 
from  his  seat  and  advanced  toward  him.     On  his  approach, 


398  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

Sir  Eobert  stretched  out  his  hand,  and,  with  a  look  and 
tone  of  agony,  said,  "Who  was  your  father?"  He  then, 
without  waiting  for  a  reply,  covered  his  convulsed  features 
with  his  handkerchief.  The  baronet's  agitation,  which 
now  shook  him  like  an  earthquake,  became  contagious. 
Thaddeus  gazed  at  him  with  a  palsying  uncertainty  in  his 
heart;  laying  his  hand  on  his  bewildered  brain  he  an- 
swered, "I  know  not;  yet  I  fear  I  must  believe  him  to  be 
the  Earl  of  Tinemouth.  But  here  is  his  picture."  With 
an  almost  disabling  tremor  he  unclasped  it  from  his  neck, 
where  his  mother's  last  blessing  had  placed  it,  and  touch- 
ing the  spring  which  held  it  in  its  little  gold  case  in  the 
manner  of  a  watch,  he  gave  it  open  to  Sir  Eobert,  who 
had  started  from  his  seat  at  the  name  of  the  earl.  The 
moment  the  baronet's  eyes  rested  on  the  miniature,  he 
fell  senseless  upon  the  chair. 

Thaddeus,  hardly  more  alive,  sprinkled  some  water  on 
his  face,  and  with  throbbing  temples  and  a  bleeding  heart 
stood  in  wordless  expectation  over  him.  Such  excessive 
emotion  told  him  that  something  more  than  Sir  Eobert's 
hatred  of  the  Polanders  had  stimulated  his  late  conduct. 
Too  earnest  for  an  explanation  to  ring  for  assistance,  he 
rejoiced  to  see,  by  the  convulsion  of  the  baronet's  features 
and  the  heaving  of  his  chest,  that  animation  was  return- 
ing. In  a  few  minutes  he  opened  his  eyes,  but  when  he 
met  the  anxious  gaze  of  Thaddeus,  he  closed  them  as  sud- 
denly. Eising  from  his  seat,  he  staggered  against  the 
chimney-piece,  exclaiming,  "Oh,  God,  direct  me!" 

Thaddeus,  whose  conjectures  were  now  wrought  almost 
to  wildness,  followed  him,  and  while  his  exhausted  frame 
was  ready  to  sink  to  the  earth,  he  implored  him  to  speak. 

"Sir  Eobert,"  cried  he,  "if  you  know  anything  of  my 
family,  if  you  know  anything  of  my  father,  I  beseech  you 
to  answer  me.  Or  only  tell  me:  am  I  so  wretched  as  to 
be  the  son  of  Lord  Tinemouth?" 

The  violence  of  the  count's  emotions  during  this  agoniz- 
ing address  totally  overcame  him;  before  he  finished 
speaking,  his  limbs  withdrew  their  support,  and  he  dropped 
breathless  against  the  side  of  the  chair. 

Sir  Eobert  turned  hastily  round.  He  saw  him  sink, 
like  a  beautiful  flower,  bruised  and  trampled  on  by  the 
foot  of  him  who  had  given  it  root.  Unable  to  make  any 
evasive  reply  to  this  last  appeal  of  virtue  and  of  nature,  he 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  399 

threw  himself  with  a  burst  of  tears  upon  his  neck,  and 
exclaimed,  "Wretch  that  I  have  been!  Oh,  Sobieski!  I 
am  thy  father.  Dear,  injured  son  of  the  too  faithful 
Therese!" 

The  first  words  which  carried  this  avowal  to  the  heart 
of  Thaddens  deprived  it  of  motion,  and  when  Sir  Kobert 
expected  to  receive  the  returning  embrace  of  his  son,  he 
found  him  senseless  in  his  arms. 

The  cries  of  the  baronet  brought  Mr.  Middleton  and  the 
servants  into  the  room.  When  the  former  saw  the  state 
of  the  count,  and  perceived  the  agonized  position  of  his 
patron  (who  was  supporting  and  leaning  over  his  son),  the 
honest  man  declared  that  he  expected  nothing  less  from 
the  gentleman's  disobedience  of  his  orders.  The  presence 
of  the  servants  having  recalled  Sir  Robert's  wandering 
faculties,  he  desired  them  to  remove  the  invalid  with  the 
greatest  care  back  to  his  chamber.  Following  them  in 
silence,  when  they  had  laid  their  charge  on  the  bed,  he 
watched  in  extreme  but  concealed  suspense  till  Mr.  Mid- 
dleton once  more  succeeded  in  restoring  animation  to  his 
patient. 

The  moment  the  count  unclosed  his  eyes,  they  fixed 
themselves  on  his  father.  He  drew  the  hand  which  held 
his  to  his  lips.  The  tears  of  paternal  love  again  bathed 
the  cheeks  of  Sir  Kobert;  he  felt  how  warm  at  his  heart 
was  the  affection  of  his  deserted  son.  Making  a  sign  for 
Mr.  Middleton  to  leave  the  room,  who  obeyed,  he  bent  his 
streaming  eyes  upon  the  other  hand  of  Thaddens,  and,  in 
a  faltering  voice,  "Can  you  pardon  me?" 

Thaddeus  threw  himself  on  his  father's  bosom,  and 
wept  profusely;  then  raising  Sir  Robert's  clasped  hands  to 
his,  while  his  eloquent  eyes  seemed  to  search  the  heavens, 
he  said,  "My  dear,  dear  mother  loved  you  to  her  latest 
hour;  and  I  have  all  my  mother's  heart.  Whatever  may 
have  been  his  errors,  I  love  and  honor  my  father." 

Sir  Robert  strained  him  to  his  breast.  After  a  pause, 
while  he  shook  the  tears  from  his  venerated  cheeks,  he 
resumed:  "Certain,  my  dear  son,  that  you  require  repose, 
and  assured  that  you  will  not  find  it  until  I  have  offered 
some  apology  for  my  unnatural  conduct,  I  will  now  explain 
the  circumstances  which  impelled  my  actions,  and  drew 
distress  upon  that  noble  being,  your  mother." 

Sir  Robert  hesitated  a  moment  to  recover  breath,  and 


400  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

then,  with  the  verity  of  a  grateful  penitence,  com- 
menced: 

"Keep  your  situation,"  added  he,  putting  down  Thad- 
deus,  who  at  this  opening  was  raising  himself,  "I  shall 
tell  my  melancholy  story  Avith  less  pain  if  your  eyes  be  not 
upon  me.     I  will  begin  from  the  first." 

The  baronet,  with  frequent  agitated  pauses,  proceeded 
to  relate  what  may  be  more  succinctly  expressed  as  fol- 
lows: Very  early  in  life  he  had  attached  himself  to  Miss 
Edith  Beaufort,  the  only  sister  of  the  late  Admiral  Beau- 
fort, who  at  that  time  was  pursuing  his  chosen  brave 
career  as  post-captain  in  the  British  navy.  By  the  suc- 
cessive deaths  of  their  parents,  they  had  been  left  young 
to  the  guardianship  of  Sir  Fulke  Somerset  and  their 
maternal  aunt,  his  then  accomplished  lady:  she  and  their 
deceased  mother,  the  Lady  Grace  Beaufort,  having  been 
sisters — the  two  celebrated  beautiful  daughters  of  Robert 
Earl  Studeley  of  Warwick. 

Sir  Fulke's  family  by  the  amiable  twin  of  the  Lady 
Grace  were  Robert  (who  afterward  succeeded  him)  and 
Dorothy,  his  only  daughter.  But  he  had  a  son  by  a  former 
marriage  with  the  brilliantly  endowed  widow  of  a  long- 
resident  governor  in  the  East,  who  having  died  on  his 
voyage  home  to  England,  on  her  landing  she  found  herself 
the  sole  inheritrix  of  his  immense  wealth.  She  possessed 
charms  of  person  as  well  as  riches,  and  as  soon  as  "her 
weeds"  could  be  laid  aside,  she  became  the  admired  wife 
of  the  "gay  and  gallant"  Sir  Fulke  Somerset.  Within 
the  twelve  subsequent  months  she  presented  him  with  a 
son  and  heir,  soon  to  be  her  own  too;  for  though  she 
lived  three  or  four  years  after  his  birth,  her  health  became 
so  delicate  that  she  never  bore  another  child,  but  gradually 
declined,  and  ultimately  expired  while  apparently  in  a 
gentle  sleep. 

Sir  Fulke  mourned  his  due  time  "in  the  customary  suit 
of  solemn  black;"  but  he  was  a  man  of  a  lofty  and  social 
spirit,  by  no  means  inclined  to  be  disconsolate,  and  held 
"a  fair  helpmate"  to  be  an  indispensable  appendage  to 
his  domestic  state.  In  this  temper  (just  before  the  elec- 
tion of  a  new  Parliament,  when  contending  interests  were 
running  very  close),  he  obtained  the  not  less  eagerly  dis- 
puted hand  of  Lady  Arabella  Studeley,  whose  elder  sister 
(as  has  been  mentioned)  had  made  a  magnificent  marriage, 
only  a  year  or  two  before,  with  John  of  Beaufort,  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WAESA  W.  401 

lord  of  the  noble  domain  of  Beaufort  in  the  Weald  of 
Kent — a  lineal  endowment  from  his  princely  ancestor, 
John  of  Gaunt.  This  illustrious  pair  dwelt  on  the  land, 
like  its  munificent  owner  in  the  olden  times,  revered  and 
beloved;  and  they  were  the  parents  of  their  two  equally 
honored  representatives — Guy,  afterward  Admiral  Beau- 
fort, and  Edith,  who  subsequently  became  the  adored  Avife 
,of  her  also  tenderly  beloved  cousin,  Eobert  Somerset. 
I  But  before  that  fondly  anticipated  event  took  place,  the 
young  lover  had  to  pass  through  a  path  of  thorns,  some  of 
which  pierced  him  to  the  end.  From  his  childhood  to 
manhood,  he  saw  little  of  Algernon,  his  elder  brother, 
who  always  seemed  to  him  more  like  an  occasional  bril- 
liant phantom,  alighting  among  them,  than  a  dear  member 
of  the  family  coming  delightedly  to  cheer  and  to  share  his 
paternal  home.  Algernon  was  either  at  Eaton  school,  or 
at  one  of  the  universities,  or  traveling  somewhere  on  the 
continent;  and  at  all  these  places,  or  from  them  all,  he 
became  the  enchanted  theme  of  every  tongue.  Mean- 
while, Eobert — though,  perhaps,  equally  endowed  by 
nature,  yet  certainly  of  a  milder  radiance — was  the  object 
of  so  apprehensive  a  solicitude  in  his  gentle  mother's 
breast  for  the  purity  as  well  as  the  intellectual  accomplish- 
ments of  her  son,  that  she  obtained  Sir  Fulke's  reluctant 
consent  to  his  being  brought  up  in  what  is  called  "a  home 
education;"  that  is,  under  the  especial  personal  care  of 
the  best  private  tutors,  and  which  were  found,  to  the 
great  credit  of  her  judgment.  He  showed  an  ardent  de- 
votedness  to  his  studies;  and  though,  like  his  mother,  he 
was  one  of  the  mildest  of  human  beings  in  his  dealings 
with  those  around  him,  yet  his  aspirations  toward  high 
attainments  were  as  energetic  as  they  were  noiseless, 
and  ever  on  steady  wing  soaring  upward.  Robert  Somer- 
set was  then  unconsciously  forming  himself  for  what  he 
afterward  became — the  boast  of  the  country  of  his  birth, 
the  glory  of  England,  to  whose  prosperity  he  dedicated  all 
his  noble  talents,  showing  what  it  is  to  be  a  true  English 
country  gentleman.  Being  alike  "the  oak  or  laurel"  of 
*'01d  England's  fields  and  groves," 

"  With  sickle  or  with  sword, 
Or  bardic  minstrelsy," 

be  was  permitted   to   pass   a   term  or  two  at  Oxford, 


402  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

where  he  acquitted  himself  with  honor,  particularly  in 
the  classics,  to  the  repeated  admiration  of  their  then  cele- 
brated professor,  the  late  Thomas  Warton.  But  the 
young  student  was  also  fond  of  rural  pursuits  and  domestic 
occupations.  He  lived  mostly  at  home,  enjoying  the 
gentle  solace  of  elegant  modern  literature  and  the  graces 
of  music,  with  the  ever  blameless  delights  of  an  accom- 
plished female  society,  at  the  head  of  which  his  revered 
mother  had  presided,  accompanied  by  his  lively  sister 
Dorothy  and  the  sweet  Edith  Beaufort,  whom  he  had 
gradually  learned  to  love  like  his  own  soul.  His  heart 
became  yet  more  closely  knit  to  her  when  his  beloved 
parent  died,  which  sad  event  occurred  about  a  year  after 
the  death  of  Edith's  own  mother,  who  on  her  widowhood 
had  continued  to  live  more  with  her  sister,  Lady  Arabella 
Somerset,  than  at  her  bereaved  home.  Edith's  filial  sor- 
row was  renewed  in  the  loss  of  her  maternal  aunt,  and  her 
tenderest  sympathy  reciprocated  the  tears  of  her  son. 
Their  hearts  blended  together  in  those  tears,  and  both  felt 
that  "they  were  comforted. " 

Time  did  not  long  pass  on  before  the  happy  Eobert 
communicated  their  mutual  attachment  to  his  father, 
petitioning  for  his  consent  to  woo  for  the  hand  of  her 
whose  heart  he  had  already  gained.  But  the  baronet,  in 
some  surprise  at  what  he  heard,  refused  to  give  his  sanc- 
tion to  any  such  premature  engagement,  first,  on  account 
of  the  applicant's  "extreme  youth;"  and,  second,  being  "a 
younger  scion  of  his  house,"  it  might  not  be  deemed  well 
of  in  the  world  should  he,  the  guardian  of  his  niece  and 
her  splendid  fortune,  show  so  much  haste  to  bestow  her 
on  his  comparatively  portionless  son.  The  baronet,  with 
some  of  his  parliamentary  acumen,  drew  another  compari- 
son, which  touched  the  disappointed  lover  with  a  feeling 
almost  of  despair.  He  compared  what  he  denominated 
his  romantic  fancies  for  "woods  and  wilds,"  and  book- 
worm pursuits  in  the  old  crypts  of  the  castle  or  the  college, 
with  the  distinguished  consideration  held  by  his  traveled 
brother  in  courts  and  councils,  whether  abroad  or  at  home, 
closing  the  parallel  by  telling  him  "to  follow  Algernon's 
example,  and  become  more  like  a  man  of  some  account 
among  men  before  he  dared  pretend  to  a  hand  of  so  much 
importance  as  that  of  the  heiress  of  Beaufort." 

Robert  was  standing  silent  and  dismayed,  as  one  struck 


T2IADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  403 

by  a  thunder-flash,  when  his  brother  (who  had  been  only 
a  month  arrived  from  a  long  revisit  to  the  two  Sicilies) 
suddenly  entered  his  father's  library  as  Sir  Fulke  had 
again  resumed  his  discourse  with  even  more  severity.  At 
sight  of  the  animated  object  of  his  contrasting  eulogy,  he 
instantly  described  to  his  new  auditor  what  had  been 
mutually  said,  and  referred  the  subject  to  him. 

"Romance,  indeed!  whether  in  merry  Sherwood,  with 
hound  and  horn,  or  with  gentle  dames  in  bower  and  hall, 
you  have  had  enough  of,  my  brother,"  replied  the  gay- 
spirited  traveler.  "Neither  men  nor  women  like  philan- 
dering after  deer  or  doe,  or  a  lady's  slipper,  beyond  the 
greenwood  season.  So  I  say,  for  the  glory  of  your  man- 
hood up  and  away !  Abroad,  abroad !  My  father  is  right. 
That  is  the  only  ground  for  such  a  race  and  guerdon  as 
you  aspire  to.  I  admire  your  taste,  and  not  less  your 
ambition,  my  brave  boy.  Do  not  thwart  him,  Sir  Fulke," 
added  he  to  the  baronet,  who  began  to  frown:  "let  him 
enter  the  lists  with  the  boldest  of  us;  faint  heart  never 
won  fair  lady !  So,  forward,  Robert !  and  give  me  another 
sweet  sister  to  love  and  to  cherish  as  I  do  our  blithe  little 
Dora." 

At  this  far  from  unwelcome  advice,  Eobert  smiled  and 
sighed;  but  the  smile  swallowed  up  the  sigh,  for  his  soul 
kindled  with  hope.  His  father  smiled  also;  the  cloud  of 
a  stern  authority  had  passed  from  his  brow,  and  before 
that  now  perfecthy  reconciled  party  rose,  it  was  decided 
that  Robert  should  make  immediate  preparations  for  com- 
mencing a  regulated  course  of  continental  travels,  the 
route  to  be  drawn  out  by  his  brother,  and  his  expenses  in 
the  tour  to  be  liberally  supplied  by  his  father.  The  length 
of  the  probabion  was  not  then  thought  on,  at  least  not 
mentioned.  Shortly  afterward,  when  Robert  hastened 
from  the  library  to  commuunicate  what  had  passed  to  the 
beloved  object  of  the  discussion,  he  left  his  father  and  his 
brother  together  to  think  and  to  plan  all  the  rest  for  him. 

But  Edith  Beaufort  wept  when  she  heard  of  the  separa- 
tion; her  heart  failed  within  her.  For  since  her  first 
coming  under  the  roof  of  her  guardian  uncle,  she  had 
never  been  without  seeing  her  brother-like  cousin  beyond 
a  few  days  or  weeks  at  most.  He  was  now  going  to  be 
banished  (and,  it  was  asserted,  for  her  sake  too)  into  far- 
distant  countries,  and  for  an  indefinite  period — months, 


404  THADDJBffS  OF  WARSA  W. 

perhaps  years.  And  these  saddening  thoughts  made  her 
weep  afresh,  though  silently;  for  her  full-flowing  tears 
were  soft  and  noiseless,  like  the  heart  from  whence  they 
sprang.  Robert,  with  all  his  now  sanguine  expectations, 
sought  to  cheer  her,  but  in  vain.  She  felt  an  impression, 
that  should  he  go,  they  would  never  meet  again.  But  she 
did  not  betray  that  feeling  to  him;  yet  the  infection  of 
her  despondency,  by  its  continuance,  so  wrought  on  his 
own  consequent  depressed  spirits,  that  when  his  father 
announced  to  him  that  his  absence  must  be  for  two  or 
three  years  at  least,  he  ventured  to  remonstrate,  beseeching 
that  it  might  be  limited  to  the  shorter  term  of  two  years. 
The  baronet  derided  the  proposal,  with  many  words  of 
contempt  toward  the  urgent  pleader.  Robert  withheld 
from  disclosing  to  the  too  often  hard  mind  of  his  father 
that  the  proposition  he  so  scorned  had  originated  in  the 
tender  bosom  of  Edith  Beaufort,  and  Sir  Fulke's  sarcasm 
fell  so  thick  on  the  bending  head  of  his  son,  that  at  last 
the  insulted  feelings  of  the  generous  lover  became  so 
indignant  at  the  little  confidence  placed  in  the  real  manli- 
ness of  his  character,  which  had  hitherto  been  found  ever 
present  when  actually  called  for,  that  his  heart  began  to 
swell  to  an  almost  uncontrollable  exasperation,  and  while 
struggling  to  master  himself  from  uttering  the  disrespect- 
ful retort  risen  to  his  lips,  his  brother  again  accidentally 
entered  the  room,  and  by  giving  Robert  the  moment  to 
pause,  happily  rescued  his  tottering  duty  from  that  re- 
gretful offense. 

As  soon  as  Algernon  appeared,  the  baronet  resumed 
his  sarcastic  tone,  in  a  rapid  recapitulation  of  Robert's 
retrograde  request.  Algernon  again  took  up  the  cause  of 
his  brother,  and,  with  his  usual  tact,  gained  the  victory, 
by  the  dexterous  gayety  with  which  he  pleaded  for  the 
young  novitiate  in  all  the  matters  for  which  he  was  to  be 
sent  so  far  afield  to  learn.  At  last  the  conference  ended 
by  Sir  Pulke  agreeing  to  a  proposition  from  his  eldest  son 
• — that  the  time  for  this  foreign  tutelage  might  possibly 
expire  within  the  second  year,  should  the  results  invoked 
by  the  ambitious  passions  of  his  youngest  born  be  in  any 
fair  progress  to  fulfillment. 

In  little  more  than  a  week  after  this  final  arrangement, 
every  preparation  was  finished  for  the  wildly  contemplated 
tour.     Robert  had  taken  a  heart-plighting  adieu  from  his 


Til  A  DDJSU8  OF  WA  USA  W.  405 

beloved  Edith.  But  by  his  father's  positive  injunction, 
there  was  no  engagement  for  a  hereafter  actual  plighting 
of  hands  made  between  them.  Yet  their  eloquent  eyes, 
transparent  through  their  mutual  tears,  vowed  it  to  each 
other,  and  with  silent  prayers  for  his  indeed  early  return, 
they  parted. 

When  taking  leave  of  his  father,  and  receiving  his  direc- 
tions relative  to  a  correspondence  with  his  family,  permis- 
sion was  peremptorily  denied  him  to  hold  any  with  his 
Cousin  Edith.  He  had  learned  enough  lately  to  avoid  all 
supplications  to  the  paternal  quarter,  if  he  would  not 
invite  scorn  as  well  as  to  receive  disappointment.  But 
Algernon  whispered  to  him  "that  nobody  should  remain 
wholly  incognito  to  him  in  that  house  while  he  dipped  pen 
in  any  one  of  the  three  hundred  and  sixty-five  inkhorns 
under  its  awful  towers!"  Robert  then  bowed  his  farewell 
with  a  flushed  cheek  and  grave  respect  to  his  father,  but 
gratefully  separated  from  his  brother  with  a  warm  pres- 
sure of  the  hand.  The  old  household  servants  blessed 
him  as  he  passed  through  the  hall,  and  in  a  few  minutes 
he  found  himself  seated  in  the  family  post-chaise  and  four 
that  was  to  convey  him  from  the  home  of  his  youth  and 
happy  innocence,  and,  alas!  to  return  to  it  "an  altered 
man." 

When  he  reached  Dover  to  embark,  he  fell  in  with  the 
present  Earl  of  Tinemouth,  then  Mr.  Stanhope,  sent 
abroad  on  a  similar  errand  with  himself.  But  Stanhope's 
was  to  forget  a  mistress — Somerset's  to  merit  the  one  he 
sought.  The  two  young  men  were  kinsfolk  by  birth,  and 
they  now  felt  themselves  so  in  severing  from  their  parents. 
Stanhope  was  in  high  wrath  against  his,  and  he  soon  re- 
kindled the  already  excited  mind  of  Somerset  to  a  respon- 
sive demonstration  of  resentment.  They  determined  to 
show  that  "they  were  not  such  boys  as  to  submit  any  fur- 
ther in  passive  obedience  to  the  stern  authority  dominat- 
ing over  them."  Sir  Fulke's  particular  charge  against 
his  son  was  a  "womanish  softness,  unworthy  his  loftier 
sex!"  "Show  him,"  cried  Stanhope,  "that  you  have  the 
hardihood  of  a  true  man  by  an  immediate  act  of  inde- 
pendence. Let  us  travel  together,  kinsmen  as  we  are, 
change  our  names,  and  let  no  one  in  England  know  any- 
thing about  us  during  our  tour  except  the  two  dear 
women  on  whose  accounts  we  are  thus  transported!" 


406  WADDEtJS  OF  WARSAW. 

With  these  views  they  landed  in  France,  gave  them- 
selves out  to  be  brothers  (which  a  certain  resemblance  in 
their  persons  corroborated),  and  called  themselves  Sack- 
ville.  Agreeably  amused  with  the  novelties  presented  to 
them  at  almost  every  step  of  their  tour  from  gay  Paris 
to  sentimental  Italy,  they  proceeded  pretty  amicably 
until  they  reached  Naples.  There  Mr.  Stanhope  involved 
himself  in  an  intrigue  with  the  only  daughter  of  an  old 
British  officer,  who  had  retired  to  that  climate  for  his 
health.  Somerset  remonstrated  on  the  villainy  of  seducing 
an  innocent  girl,  when  he  knew  his  heart  and  hand  were 
pledged  to  another.  Stanhope,  enraged  at  finding  a 
censor  in  a  companion  whom  he  had  considered  to  be  as 
headstrong  as  himself,  ended  the  argument  by  drawing 
his  sword,  and  if  the  servants  of  the  hotel  had  not  inter- 
fered, the  affray  would  probably  have  terminated  with  one 
of  their  lives.  Since  that  hour  they  never  met.  Mr. 
Stanhope  tied  from  his  shame  and  his  bleeding  friend, 
and,  fearful  of  consequences,  took  temporary  refuge  in 
one  of  the  Ionian  Isles,  not  daring  to  proceed  any  further 
against  the  innocence  of  the  poor  officer's  daughter,  who 
had  been  thus  rescued  from  becoming  his  victim ! 

When  recovered  from  his  wound,  Robert  Somerset  (by 
some  strange  infatuation  still  retaining  the  name  of  Sack- 
ville)  proceeded  to  Florence,  in  which  interesting  city,  for 
works  of  art,  ancient  and  modern,  and  the  graces  of  classic 
society,  determining  to  stay  some  time,  he  rather  sought 
than  repelled  the  civilities  of  the  inhabitants.  Here  he 
became  acquainted  with  the  palatine  and  the  lovely  Count- 
ess Therese,  his  daughter.  Her  beauty  pleased  his  taste; 
her  gentle  virtues  and  exquisite  accomplishments  affected 
both  his  heart  and  mind;  and  he  often  gazed  on  her  with 
tenderness,  when  his  fidelity  to  Edith  Beaufort  only  meant 
him  to  convey  a  look  of  grateful  admiration.  The  pala- 
tine honored  England,  and  was  prepared  to  esteem  her 
sons  wherever  he  might  meet  them ;  and  very  soon  he 
became  so  attached  to  this  apparently  lonely  young  traveler 
that  he  invited  him  to  all  the  excursions  he  and  his 
daughter  made  into  the  adjoining  states,  whether  visiting 
them  by  the  romantic  scenery  of  the  land  roads,  or  coast- 
ing the  beautiful  bays  of  the  sublime  shores  on  either  side 
of  those  parts  of  the  Mediterranean. 

In  the  midst  of  this  intimacy,  as  if  she  were  aware  of  a 


TIJADDEUS  OP  WARSAW.  4<i? 

friendship   so   hostile   to   his   cousin's  love,  he   suddenly 
ceased  to  receive  any  remembrance  messages  from  her  to 
him,  in  the  two   last  letters  from  his  brother — for  he  had 
never  allowed  himself  to  so  brave  his  father's  parting  com- 
mands as  to  write  to  her  himself.     Desperate  with  jealousy 
of  some  unknown  object  supplanting  him,  he  was  on  the 
point  of  setting  off  for  home,  to  judge  with  his  own  eyes, 
when  a  large  packet  from  England  was  put  into  his  hands. 
On  opening  it  he  found  a  letter  from  Edith,  on  which  his 
surprised  and  eager  gaze  had  immediately  fixed.     Without 
looking  on  any  of  the  rest,  he  broke  the  seal,  and  read, 
astounded  by  the  contents,  that  "having  for  some  time 
oeen  led  to  consider  the  probable  consequences  to  him, 
both  from  his  father's  better  judgment  and  the  ultimate 
opinion  of  the  world,  should  he  and  she  continue  their 
pertinacious  adherence  to  their  childish  attachment,  she 
had  tried  to  wean  both  him  and  herself  from  so  rebellious 
a  folly  toward  her  revered  guardian,  his  honored  father; 
and  trusting  that  the  gradual  shortening  of  her  cousin- 
like messages  to  him,  through  his  brother's  letters,  must 
have  had  the  effect  intended,  she  now  had  permission  to 
write  one  herself  to  him,  to  convince  him  at  once  of  the 
unreasonableness  and  danger  of  all  such  premature  en- 
tanglements.    For,"  she  added,  "soon  after  his  departure, 
a  journey  to  town  had  taught  her  to  know  her  own  heart. 
She  learned  to  feel  that  it  was  still  at  her  disposal;    and 
time  did  not  long  pass  after  she  returned  to  the  country 
before,  having  compared  the  object  of  her  awakened  taste 
with  that  of  her  former  delusion,  she  persuaded  her  own 
better  judgment  to  set  a  generous  example  to  her  ever- 
dear  Cousin  Robert,   by  marrying  where  that  judgment 
now  pointed.     And  so,  with  the  full  consent  of  Sir  Fulke 
(who  she  well  knew  had  been  totally  averse  to  her  mar- 
riage with  his  youngest  son),  she  had  yielded  to  the  long 
love  of   his  brother,  which  had   been   struggling   in    his 
manly  bosom  many  agonizing  months  against  his  persist- 
ent fidelity  to  Robert,   but  whose    sister   she   hoped    to 
shortly  become,  as  his  affectionate  Edith — then  Somerset." 
Having  read  this  extraordinary   epistle  to  the  end,  so 
monstrous  in  the  character  of  its  sentiments  and  its  lan- 
guage, when  compared  with  all  he  had  hitherto  known  of 
the  pure  and  simple  mind  from  which  it  came,  a  terrible 
revulsion  seized  on  his  ov,n,  and,  almost  maddened  with 


408  TSADDttVS  OF  WARSA  W. 

horror  at  every  name  in  that  letter,  he  forswore  his  family 
forever!  Hastening,  as  for  one  drop  of  heaven's  dew  upon 
his  burning  brain,  to  seek  Therese  Sobieski,  he  found  her 
alone,  and  though  without  such  aim  when  he  rushed  so 
frenzied  into  her  presence,  he  besought  her  "to  heal  a 
miserable  and  broken  heart,  which  could  only  be  saved  to 
endure  any  continuance  of  life  by  an  acknowledgment 
that  she  loved  him!"  Alas!  the  avowal  was  too  soon 
wrung  from  that  tender  and  noble  spirit!  and  yielding 
to  a  paroxysm  of  a  rash  and  blinding  revenge,  he  hurried 
her  to  a  neighboring  convent  and  secretly  married  her. 

This. most  unrighteous  act  perpetrated,  he  in  vain  sought 
tranquillity.  He  was  now  stung  within  by  a  constant 
sense  of  increasing  guilt.  Before  this  act  he  was  tbe  injured 
party — injured  by  those  in  whom  he  had  confided  his 
dearest  earthly  happiness;  and  he  could  raise  his  head  in 
conscious  truth,  though  all  his  fondest  hopes  had  been 
wrecked  by  their  falsehood.  But  now  he  was  the  betrayer 
of  a  young  and  innocent  heart,  which  had  implicitly 
trusted  in  him.  And  he  had  insulted  with  a  base  and 
treacherous  ingratitude,  by  that  act  of  deceit,  without 
excuse,  the  honor  of  her  father,  whose  generous  confidence 
had  also  been  implicitly  placed  in  him.  But  the  effects 
of  these  scorpion  reproaches  in  his  bosom  were  not  less 
destructive  of  her  peace  than  of  his  own.  He  saw  that 
his  wedded  Therese  was  unweariedly  anxious  to  soothe  the 
mysterious  wanderings  of  his  mind  with  her  softest  ten- 
derness. But  his  thoughts  were,  indeed,  far  from  her, 
ever  hovering  over  the  changed  image  of  his  so  lately 
adored  Edith — ever  agonizing  over  the  lightness  of  a  con- 
duct so  unlike  her  former  virgin  delicacy,  so  unlike  the 
clinging  vows  she  breathed  to  him  in  their  hour  of  boding 
separation — ever  execrating  the  perfidy  of  his  brother, 
which  had  brought  on  him  this  distracting  load  of  guilt 
and  woe. 

In  this  temper  of  alienation  from  all  the  world,  a  second 
packet  from  England  was  put  into  his  hand.  Again  he 
saw  Edith's  writing;  but  he  dropped  it  unopened  in  horror 
of  the  signature  he  anticipated  would  be  appended  to  it. 
Roused  by  resentment  toward  him  whose  name  he  believed 
she  then  bore,  he  tore  asunder  the  wax  of  a  letter  from 
his  father,  which  was  sealed  with  black.  His  eyes  were 
speedily  riveted  to  it.     Sir  Fulke,  in  the  language  of  deep 


TBAtoDEVa  OF  WARSA  W.  409 

contrition,  confessed  ;i  train  of  deception  that  petrified 
his  son.  He  declared,  with  bitter  invectives  against  him- 
self, that  all  which  had  been  communicated  to  that  un- 
happy son  relating  to  Edith  and  her  intended  marriage 
with  Algernon  had  been  devised  by  that  unkind  brother, 
and  his  no  less  unnatural  father,  for  the  treacherous  pur- 
pose of  that  marriage.  Devoted  to  ambition  for  his  own 
sake,  as  well  as  for  that  of  his  favorite  son,  Sir  Fulke 
owned  that  he  had  from  the  first  of  Edith  Beaufort's  be- 
coming his  ward  resolved  on  her  union  in  due  time  with 
Algernon,  in  order  to  endow  him,  in  addition  to  his  own 
rich  inheritance,  with  all  the  political  influence  attendant 
on  the  vast  estate  to  which  she  was  heiress,  and  so  build 
up  the  family,  in  the  consideration  of  government,  to  any 
pitch  of  coroneted  rank  their  high-reaching  parent  might 
choose  to  reclaim. 

With  many  prayers  for  pardon  from  Heaven  and  the 
cruelly  injured  Robert,  the  wretched  father  acknowledged 
that  this  confession  was  wrung  from  him  by  the  sudden 
death  of  his  eldest  son,  who,  having  been  thrown  off  his 
horse  on  a  heap  of  stones  in  the  high-road,  after  three 
days  of  severe  bodily  and  mental  suffering,  now  lay  a 
sadly  disfigured  corpse,  under  the  vainly  mourning 
blazonry  of  his  house,  in  the  darkened  hall  of  his  ances- 
tors. The  disconsolate  narrator  then  added,  that  "in 
contrite  repentance  his  son  had  conjured  him,  with  his 
dying  breath,  to  confess  the  falsehood  of  all  that  had 
passed  to  the  grossly  abused  Robert;"  among  which,  was 
Algernon  turning  to  the  account  of  his  own  designs  every 
confidence  imparted  to  him  by  his  brother,  in  his  incognito 
movements,  and  awakened  intimacy  with  the  noble  Sar- 
matian  family  at  Florence.  And  from  these  unsuspected 
sources,  this  false  friend  and  kinsman  had  contrived  to 
throw  out  hints  of  his  brother's  reported  sliding  heart  to 
the  shrinking  object  of  his  own  base  and  perfidious  pas- 
sion. At  last,  believing  Robert  to  be  unfaithful,  she  sank 
into  a  depression  of  spirits  which  Sir  Fulke  thought  would 
be  easy  to  work  to  an  assent,  in  mere  reckless  melancholy, 
to  the  union  he  sought.  With  that  object,  and  to  break 
the  knot  at  once  by  a  trenchant  blow  on  Robert's  side, 
Algernon  forged  that  letter  in  Edith  Beaufort's  hand- 
writing which  had  announced  so  unblushingly  her  prepara- 
tions for  an  immediate  marriage  with  the  eldest  son. 


410  TBADDEUS  OF  WAMSA  W. 

"But,"  continued  Sir  Fulke,  "death  has  put  an  end  to 
this  unnatural  rivalry.  And  my  poor  girl,  undeceived  in 
her  opinion  of  you,  longs  to  see  you,  and  to  give  you  that 
hand  which  your  ill-fated  brother  and  infatuated  father 
so  unjustly  detained  from  you.  You  are  now  my  only 
son,  the  only  prop  of  my  house,  the  only  comfort  of  my 
old  age!  My  son,  do  not  abandon  to  his  remorse  and  sor- 
row your  only  parent." 

On  receipt  of  this  packet,  in  a  consternation  of  amaze- 
ment, and  a  soul  divided  between  rekindled  love  in  all  its 
fires  and  pity  and  honor  toward  her  he  had  betrayed  before 
the  altar  of  Heaven,  Robert  Somerset  sacrificed  both  to  his 
imperious  passion.  He  adored  the  woman  on  whose 
account  he  had  left  the  country,  and  though  every  tie, 
sacred  and  just,  bound  him  to  the  tender  and  faithful 
wife  he  must  forsake  to  regain  that  idol,  he  at  once  con- 
signed her  to  the  full  horrors  of  desertion  and  hastened  to 
England. 

"Disgraceful  to  relate!"  ejaculated  Sir  Robert,  putting 
his  hand  over  his  face,  "I  married  Edith  Beaufort,  while 
in  our  deepest  mourning,  but  at  Somerset,  as  the  place 
furthest  from  general  notice.  My  father,  eager  to  efface 
as  fast  as  possible  from  my  mind  and  hers  all  recollection 
of  his  past  conduct  toward  us,  had  prepared  everything 
splendid,  though  private,  for  our  union;  and  in  her  bliss- 
ful, restored  possession,  I  forgot  for  awhile  Therese  and 
her  agonies.  But  when  my  dear  Pembroke  first  saw  the 
light,  when  I  pressed  him  to  my  heart,  it  seemed  as  if  in 
the  same  instant  a  dagger  pierced  it.  When  I  would  have 
breathed  a  blessing  over  him,  the  conviction  struck  me 
that  I  durst  not — that  I  had  deluded  the  mother  who  gave 
him  birth,  and  that  at  some  future  period  he  might  have 
cause  to  curse  the  author  of  his  existence. 

"Well,"  continued  the  baronet,  wiping  his  forehead, 
"though  the  birth  of  this  boy  conjured  up  the  image  of 
your  mother,  to  haunt  me  day  and  night,  I  never  could 
summon  moral  courage  to  inquire  of  her  destiny  after  I 
had  left  her.  When  the  troubles  of  Poland  commenced, 
what  a  dreadful  terror  seized  me!  The  successes  of  their 
allied  enemies,  and  the  consequent  distress  and  persecu- 
tion of  the  chief  nobility,  overwhelmed  me  with  apprehen- 
sion. I  knew  not  but  that  many,  like  the  noblesse  of 
France,  might  be  forced  to  abandon  their  country;  and 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  411 

the  bare  idea  of  meeting  your  grandfather  or  the  injured 
Therese  in  England,  precipitated  me  into  a  nervous  state 
that  menaced  my  life.  I  became  abstracted  and  seriously 
ill,  was  forbidden  all  excitements;  hence  easily  avoided 
the  sight  of  newspapers;  and,  on  the  plea  you  have  heard, 
my  family  were  withheld  from  speaking  on  any  public 
subjects  that  manifestly  gave  me  pain.  But  I  could  not 
prevent  the  tongues  of  our  visitors  from  discoursing  on  a 
theme  which  at  that  period  interested  every  thinking 
mind.  I  heard  of  the  valiant  Kosciusko,  the  good  Stanis- 
laus, and  the  Palatine  Sobieski,  with  his  brave  grandson, 
spoken  of  in  the  same  breath.  I  durst  not  surmise  who 
this  grandson  was;  I  dared  not  ask — I  dreaded  to  know. 

"At  length,"  added  the  agitated  father,  quickening  his 
voice,  "the  idol  of  my  heart — she  for  whom  I  had  sacri- 
ficed my  all  of  human  probity,  perhaps  my  soul's  eternal 
peace— died  in  my  arms.  Where  could  a  wretch  like  me 
turn  for  consolation?  I  had  forfeited  all  right  to  it  from 
Heaven  or  earth.  But  at  last  a  benignant  spirit  seemed 
to  breathe  on  me,  and  I  bent  beneath  the  stroke  with 
humility;  for  I  embraced  it  as  the  just  chastisement  of 
a  crime  which  till  then,  even  in  the  midst  of  my  married 
felicity,  had  often  pressed  on  my  dearest  feelings  like  the 
hand  of  death.  I  repeat,  I  bore  this  chastening  trial  with 
the  resignation  I  have  described.  But  when,  two  years 
afterward,  my  eye  fell  by  accident  upon  the  name  of 
Sobieski  in  one  of  the  public  papers,  I  could  not  withdraw 
it;  my  sight  was  fascinated  as  if  by  a  rattlesnake.  In  one 
column  I  read  how  bravely  the  palatine  fell,  and  in  the 
next  the  dreadful  fate  of  his  daughter.  She  was  re- 
venged!" cried  Sir  Robert,  eagerly  grasping  the  hand  of 
Thaddeus,  who  could  not  restrain  the  groan  that  burst 
from  his  breast.  "For  nearly  three  months  I  was  deprived 
of  that  reason  which  had  abused  her  noble  nature. 

"When  I  recovered  my  senses,"  continued  he,  in  a 
calmer  tone,  "and  found  I  had  so  fatally  suffered  the  time 
of  any  restitution  to  her  to  go  by,  I  began  to  torture  my 
remorseful  heart  because  that  I  had  not,  immediately  on 
the  death  of  my  too-much-loved  Edith,  hastened  to 
Poland,  and  besought  Therese's  pardon  from  her  ever- 
generous  heart.  But  this  vivid  approach  to  a  sincei^ 
repentance  was  soon  obliterated  by  the  consideration  that, 
the  Countess  Sobieski  having  had  a  prior  claim  to  rnv 


412  TEA D DEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

name,  such  restitution  on  my  part  most  have  illegitimated 
my  darling  Pembroke,  his  dying  mother's  fondest  be- 
qneathment  to  a  father's  arms. 

"It  was  this  fearful  conviction,"  exclaimed  Sir  Eobert, 
a  sudden  horror,  indeed,  distracting  his  before-affectionate 
eye,  "that  caused  all  my  barbarian  cruelty.  When  my 
dear  and  long-believed  only  son  described  the  danger  from 
which  you  had  rescued  him,  when  he  told  me  that  Therese 
had  fostered  him  with  a  parent's  tenderness,  I  was  probed 
to  the  heart.  But  when  he  added  that  the  young  Count 
Sobieski  was  now  an  alien  from  his  country,  and  relying 
on  my  friendship  for  a  home,  my  terror  was  too  truly 
manifested.  Horror  drove  all  natural  remorse  from  my 
soul.  I  thought  an  avenging  power  had  sent  my  deserted 
child  to  discover  his  father,  to  claim  his  rights,  and  to 
publish  me  as  a  disgrace  to  the  name  I  had  stolen  from 
him.  And  when  I  saw  my  innocent  Pembroke,  even  to 
his  knees,  petitioning  for  the  man  who  I  believed  had 
come  to  undo  him,  I  became  almost  deranged.  May  the 
Lord  of  mercy  pardon  the  fury  of  that  derangement!  For 
under  that  temper,"  added  he,  putting  the  trembling 
hand  of  Thaddeus  to  his  streaming  eyes,  "I  drove  my  first- 
born to  be  a  wanderer  on  the  face  of  the  earth,  not  for 
his  own  crimes,  but  for  those  of  his  father;  and  Heaven 
justly  punished  in  the  crime  the  sin  of  my  injustice. 
When  I  thought  that  evidence  of  my  shame  was  divided 
from  me  by  an  insuperable  barrier,  when  I  believed  that 
the  ocean  would  soon  separate  me  from  my  fears,  a  right- 
eous Providence  brought  thee  before  me,  forlorn  and  ex- 
piring. It  was  the  son  of  Therese  Sobieski  I  had  exposed 
to  such  wretchedness.  It  was  the  cherished  of  her  heart 
I  had  delivered  to  the  raging  elements!  Oh,  Thaddeus, 
my  son,"  cried  he,  "can  I  be  forgiven  for  all  this,  in  this 
world  or  in  the  next?" 

"Oh,  my  father!"  returned  Thaddeus,  with  a  modest, 
but  a  pathetic  energy,  "I  am  thy  son!  thy  happy  son,  in 
such  acknowledgment!  Therefore  no  longer  upbraid 
yourself.  Did  you  not  act,  as  by  a  sacred  impulse,  & 
father's  part  to  me  when  you  knew  me  not?  You  raised 
my  dying  head  from  the  earth  and  laid  it  on  your  bosom. 
Oh,  my  father!  He  who  brought  us  so  together  in  his 
own  appointed  time,  chasteneth  every  son  whom  he  re- 
ceiveth,  and  has  thus  proved  his  love  and  pardon  to  youi 


TUADDEUS  OF  WARSA  TP,  413 

contrite  heart,  both  on  earth  and  in  heaven,  by  the  nature 
of  your  chastisement  and  the  healing  balm  at  its  close!" 
At  the  end  of  this  interview,  so  interesting  and  vital  to 
the  happiness  of  both  these  newly  united  parties,  father 
and  son,  Sir  Robert  motioned  his  blessing  to  that  son  by 
laying  his  hand  gently  on  his  head,  while  the  parental 
tears  flowed  on  that  now  dear  forehead — for  he  could  not 
then  speak.  He  immediately  withdrew,  to  leave  Thaddeus 
to  repose,  and  himself  to  retire  to  pour  out  his  grateful 
spirit  in  private. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  PEACE. 

At  dawn  on  the  morning  following  the  preceding  event- 
ful but  happy  conference,  Sir  Robert,  painfully  remem- 
bering the  frantic  grief  of  Pembroke  on  finding  that 
Sobieski  had  not  only  withdrawn  himself  from  Harrowby, 
but  had  adjured  England  forever,  and  still  feeling  the 
merited  bitterness  of  the  reproaches  which  his  inexplicable 
commands,  dishonoring  to  his  son,  had  provoked  from 
that  only  too-long-preferred  offspring  of  his  idolized  Edith 
— which  reproaches,  unknowingly  so  inflicted  by  the 
desperation  of  their  utterer,  had  driven  the  guilty  father 
to  seek  a  temporary  refuge  from  them,  if  not  from  his  own 
accusing  conscience,  under  the  then  solitary  roof  of  one  of 
his  country-seats  in  the  adjacent  county — yet  somewhat 
relieved,  as  by  the  immediate  mercy  of  Heaven,  from  the 
load  of  his  misery,  he  eagerly  wrote  by  the  auspicious 
beams  of  the  rising  sun  a  few  short  lines  to  Pembroke, 
telling  him  that  "a  providential  circumstance  had  occurred 
since  they  parted,  which  he  trusted  would  finally  reconcile 
into  a  perfect  peace  all  that  had  recently  passed  so  dis- 
tressingly between  them;  therefore  he,  his  ever  tenderly 
affectioned  father,  requested  him  to  join  him  alone,  and 
without  delay,  at  Deerhurst." 

This  duty  done  to  one  beloved  child,  he  then  turned  to 
anticipate  a  second  converse  to  his  comfort  with  the  other. 

That  sickness  which  is  the  consequence  of  mental  suf- 
fering usually  vanishes  with  its  cause.     Long  before  the 


414  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

dinner-hour  of  this  happy  day,  Thaddens,  refreshed  by  the 
peaceful  and  lengthened  sleep  from  which  he  awoke  late 
in  the  morning,  rose  as  if  with  a  renewed  principle  of  life. 
Quitting  his  room,  he  met  his  glad  father  in  the  passage- 
gallery,  who  instantly  conducted  him  into  a  private  room, 
where  that  now  tranquilized  parent  soon  brought  him  to 
relate,  with  every  sentence  a  deepening  interest,  the  rapid 
incidents  of  his  brief  but  eventful  career.  The  voice  of 
fame  had  already  blazoned  him  abroad  as  "the  plume  of 
war,  with  early  laurels  crowned;"  but  it  was  left  to  his 
own  ingenuous  tongue  to  prove,  in  all  the  modest  sim- 
plicity of  a  perfect  filial  confidence,  that  the  most  difficult 
conflicts  are  not  those  which  are  sustained  on  the  battle- 
field. 

Sir  Eobert  listened  to  him  with  affection,  admiration, 
and  delight — ah,  with  what  pride  in  such  a  son!  He  was 
answering  the  heartfelt  detail  with  respondent  grateful- 
ness to  that  Almighty  Power  which  had  shed  on  his  trans- 
gressing head  such  signal  "signs  of  heavenly  amnesty," 
when  the  door  opened  and  a  servant  announced  that  Mr. 
Somerset  was  in  the  library. 

Thaddeus  started  up  with  joy  in  his  countenance;  but 
Sir  Eobert  gently  put  him  down  again.  "Remain  here, 
my  son,"  said  he,  "until  I  apprise  your  brother  how  nearly 
you  are  related  to  him.  Yonder  door  leads  into  my  study. 
I  will  call  you  when  he  is  prepared." 

The  moment  Sir  Robert  joined  Pembroke,  he  read  in 
his  pale  and  haggard  features  how  much  he  needed  the 
intelligence  he  was  summoned  to  hear.  Mr.  Somerset 
bowed  coldly  but  respectfully  on  his  father's  entrance,  and 
begged  to  be  honored  with  his  commands. 

"They  are  what  I  expect  will  restore  to  you  your  usual 
looks  and  manner,  my  dear  son,"  returned  the  baronet; 
"so  attend  to  me." 

Pembroke  listened  to  his  father's  narrative  with  mute 
and,  as  it  proceeded,  amazed  attention.  But  when  the 
name  of  Therese  Sobieski  was  mentioned  as  that  of  the 
foreign  lady  whom  he  had  married  and  deserted,  the  ready 
apprehension  of  his  breathless  auditor  conceiving  the  re- 
mainder yet  unuttered  by  the  agitated  narrator,  Sir 
Robert  had  only  to  confirm,  though  in  a  hardly  audible 
voice,  the  eager  demand  of  his  son,  "Was  Thaddeus 
Sobieski  indeed  his  brother?"  and  while  hearing  the  reply, 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  415 

tmabl6  to  ask  another  question,  he  looked  wildly  from 
earth  to  heaven,  as  if  seeking  where  he  might  yet  be 
found. 

"Oh,  my  father!"  cried  he,  "what  have  you  done? 
Where  is  he?     For  what  have  you  sacrified  him?" 

"Hear  me  to  an  end,"  rejoined  the  baronet.  He  then, 
in  as  few  words  as  possible,  repeated  the  subsequent  events 
of  the  recent  meeting. 

Pembroke's  raptures  were  now  as  high  as  his  despair 
had  been  profound.  He  threw  himself  on  his  father's 
breast;  he  asked  for  his  friend,  his  brother,  and  begged  to 
be  conducted  to  him.  Sir  Eobert  did  no  more  than  open 
the  intervening  door,  and  in  one  instant  the  brothers  were 
locked  in  each  other's  arms. 

The  transports  of  the  young  men  for  a  long  while 
denied  them  words;  but  their  eyes,  their  tears,  and  their 
united  hands  imparted  to  each  breast  a  consciousness  of 
mutual  love  unutterable,  not  even  to  be  expressed  by 
those  looks  which  are  indeed  the  heralds  of  the  soul. 

Sir  Eobert  wept  like  an  infant  Avhile  contemplating 
these  two  affectionate  brothers;  in  a  faltering  voice  he 
exclaimed,  "How  soon  may  these  plighted  hands  be  sepa- 
rated by  inexorable  law!  Alas!  Pembroke,  you  cannot  be 
ignorant  that  I  buy  this  son  at  a  terrible  price  from  you !" 

At  this  speech  the  blood  rushed  over  the  cheek  of  the 
ingenuous  Pembroke;  but  Thaddeus,  turning  instantly  to 
Sir  Eobert,  said,  with  an  eloquent  smile: 

"On  this  head  I  trust  that  neither  my  father  nor  my 
brother  will  entertain  one  thought  to  trouble  them.  Had 
I  even  the  inclination  to  act  otherwise  than  right,  my 
revered  grandfather  has  put  it  out  of  my  power  to  claim 
or  to  bear  any  other  name  than  that  of  Sobieski.  He 
made  me  swear  never  to  change  it;  and,  as  I  hope  to  meet 
him  hereafter,"  added  he,  with  solemnity,  "I  will  obey 
him.  Therefore,  my  beloved  father,  in  secret  only  can  I 
enjoy  the  conviction  that  I  am  your  son,  and  Pembroke's 
brother.  Yet  the  happiness  I  receive  with  the  knowledge 
of  being  so  will  ever  live  here,  will  ever  animate  my  heart 
with  gratitude  to  Heaven  and  to  }rou." 

"Noble  son  of  the  sainted  Therese!"  cried  Sir  Eobert; 
"I  do  not  deserve  thee!" 

"How  shall  I  merit  your  care  of  my  honor,  of  my  dear- 
est feelings?"  exclaimed  Pembroke,  grasping  the  hand  of 


416  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

his  brother.  "I  can  do  nothing,  clearest  Thaddeus;  I  am 
a  bankrupt  in  the  means  of  evincing  what  is  passing  in 
my  sonl.  My  mother's  chaste  spirit  thanks  you  from  my 
lips.  Yet  I  will  not  abuse  your  generosity.  Though  I 
retain  the  name  of  Somerset,  it  shall  only  be  the  name; 
the  inheritance  entailed  on  my  father's  eldest  son  belongs 
to  you." 

While  Thaddeus  embraced  his  brother  again,  he  calmly 
and  affectionately  replied  that  he  would  rather  encounter 
all  the  probable  evils  from  which  his  father's  benevolence 
had  saved  him,  than  rob  his  brother  of  any  part  of  that 
inheritance,  "which,"  he  earnestly  added,  "I  sincerely 
believe,  according  to  the  providence  of  Heaven,  is  your 
just  due." 

Sir  Eobert,  with  abhorrence  of  himself  and  admiration 
of  his  sons,  attempted  to  stop  this  noble  contention  by 
proposing  that  it  should  be  determined  by  an  equal  division 
of  the  family  property. 

''Not  so,  my  father,"  returned  Thaddeus  steadfastly, 
but  with  reverence;  "I  can  never  admit  that  the  title  of 
Somerset  should  sacrifice  one  jot  of  its  inherited  accus- 
tomed  munificence  by  making  any  such  alienation  of  its 
means." 

And  then  the  ingenuous  son  of  Therese  Sobieski  pro- 
ceeded, in  the  same  modest  but  firm  tone,  to  remind  his 
father  that  "though  the  laws  of  the  national  Church 
wherein  he  had  married  her  would  have  given  their  son 
every  right  over  any  inheritance  from  either  parent  which 
belonged  to  Poland,  yet  as  no  opportunity  had  subsequently 
occurred  for  repeating  the  sacred  ceremony  by  the  laws 
of  his  father's  Church,  her  son  could  make  no  legal  claim 
whatever  on  a  rood  of  the  Somerset  lands  in  England." 

Sir  Eobert,  with  unspeakable  emotion,  clasped  the  hand 
of  his  first-born  when  he  had  made,  and  with  such  tender 
delicacy,  this  conclusive  remark,  and  which,  indeed,  had 
never  presented  itself  to  his  often  distractedly  apprehensive 
mind,  either  before  or  after  the  death  of  Pembroke's 
mother;  even  had  it  done  so,  it  would  not  have  afforded 
any  quiet  to  his  soul  from  the  internal  worm  gnawing 
there.  His  act  had  been  guilt  toward  Therese  Sobieski 
and  her  confiding  innocence.  And  it  was  not  the  dis- 
covery of  any  omitted  legislative  ordinance  that  could  have 
satisfied  the  accusing  conscience  in  his  own  bosom,  hourly 


TUADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  41? 

calling  out  against  him.  But  the  heaven-consecrated  son 
oi  that  profaned  marriage  had  found  the  reconciling  point 
— had  poured  m  the  healing  balm;  and  the  spirit  of  his 
lather  was  now  at  peace. 

In   cordial    harmony,    therefore,    with    this    generous 
opinion,  so  opportunely  expressed  by  the  sincere  judgment 
ot  the  last  of  the  house  of  Sobieski,  when  so  united  to  that 
of  Somerset,  and  with  a  corresponding  simplicity  of  pur- 
pose, interwoven  by  the  sweet  reciprocity  of  mutual  confi- 
dence, the  remainder  of  the  evening  passed  pleasantly  be- 
tween the  happy  father  and  his  no  less  happy  sons. 
<    Sir  Robert  dispatched  a  letter  next  day  to  his  sister,  to 
invite  her  and  his  beloved  Mary  to  join  the  home  partv  at 
Deerhurst   without    delay.     Pembroke    rejoiced  in    this 
prospective  relief  to  the  minds  of  his  aunt  and  cousin 
being  well  aware  that  he  had  left  them  in  a  state  of  in- 
tense anxiety,  not  only  on  account  of  the  baronet's  strange 
conduct— which  had  not  been  explicable  in  any  way  to 
their  alarmed  observations— but  on  account  of  himself 
whose  mmd  had  appeared  from  the  time  of  his  father's 
incensed  departure  in  a  state  verging  on  derangement. 
On  the  instant  of  his  return  from  the  deserted  hotel, 
while  passing  Mary,  whom  he  accidentally  met  in  his  be- 
wildered way  to  Sir  Robert's  room,  he  had  exclaimed  to 
her,     I  have  not  seen  Sobieski!    he  is  gone!    and   vour 
message  is  not  delivered."     From  the  time  of  that  harrow- 
ing intimation,  he  had  constantly  avoided  even  the  sight 
of  his  cousin  or   his  aunt.     Yet  before  he   quitted   the 
castle  to  obey  his  father's  new  commands,  he  had  sum- 
moned courage  to  enter  Mary's  boudoir,  where   she  sat 
al?ner     Not  trusting  himself  to  speak,  he  put  the  letter 
which  lhaddeus  had  written  to  her  into  her  hand,  and 
disappeared,  not  daring  to  await  her  opening  what  he 
knew  to  be  a  last  farewell. 

He  had  guessed  aright;  for  from  the  moment  in  which 
her  trembling  hand  had  broken  the  seal  and  she  had  read 
it  to  the  end,  bathed  in  her  tears,  it  lay  on  her  mourning 
heart,  whether  she  waked  or  slept,  till  her  silent  grief  was 
roused  to  share  her  thoughts  with  a  personal  exertion 
welcome  to  that  despondent  heart.  It  was  Sir  Robert's 
invitation  for  her  own  and  her  aunt's  immediate  removal 
to  their  always  favorite  Deerhurst,  because  far  from  the 
gay  world,  and  ever  devoted  to  quiet  domestic  enjoyments. 


418  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

But  before  this  summons  had  arrived,  arid  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  same  day,  Lady  Albina  Stanhope,  more 
dead  than  alive  in  appearance,  had  reached  Somerset  Castle 
in  a  post-chaise,  accompanied  by  her  maid  alone,  to  im- 
plore the  protection  of  its  revered  owner  against  the  most 
terrible  evils  that  could  be  inflicted  by  an  unnatural  parent 
on  a  daughter's  heart — that  of  being  compelled  to  be  a 
party  in  a  double  outrage  on  the  memory  of  her  mother, 
by  witnessing  the  marriage  of  her  father,  by  special 
license,  to  Lady  Olivia  Lovel,  that  very  evening,  in  the 
Harwold  great  hall,  and  herself  to  commit  the  monstrous 
act  of  being  married  to  a  nephew  of  that  profligate  woman. 
To  avoid  such  horrors,  she  had  flown  for  refuge  to  the 
only  persons  she  knew  on  earth  likely  to  shield  her  from 
so  great  an  infamy. 

Soon  after  this  disclosure,  to  which  the  sister  and  niece 
of  the  beneficent  Sir  Robert  Somerset — whom  she  had 
hoped  to  find  at  the  castle — had  listened  with  the  tender- 
est  sympathy,  his  letter  to  Miss  Dorothy  was  delivered  to 
the  venerable  lady.  Mary  and  their  fatigued  guest  were 
seated  together  on  the  sofa;  and  the  seal,  without  apology, 
from  the  receiver's  anxious  haste  to  learn  what  it  might 
contain  of  her  brother's  health,  was  instantly  broken.  A 
glance  removed  every  care.  Reading  it  aloud  to  both  her 
young  auditors,  at  every  welcome  word  the  bosom  of  the 
amazed  Miss  Beaufort  heaved  with  increasing  astonish- 
ment, hope,  and  gratitude,  while  beneath  the  veil  of  her 
clustered  ringlets  her  eyes  shed  the  tribute  of  happy  tears  to 
Heaven — to  that  Heaven  alone  her  virgin  spirit  breathed 
the  emotions  of  her  reviving  heart.  The  good  old  lady 
was  not  backward  in  demonstrating  her  wonderings.  Sur- 
prised at  her  brother's  rencounter  with  Thaddeus,  but 
more  at  his  avowal  of  obligations  to  any  of  that  nation 
about  which  he  had  always  proclaimed  an  aversion,  she 
was  so  wrapped  in  bewilderment  yet  delight  at  the  dis- 
covery that  her  ever-cheerful  tongue  felt  nothing  loath 
to  impart  to  the  attentively  listening  Albina — who  had 
recognized  in  the  names  of  Constantine  and  Thaddeus 
those  of  her  lamented  mother's  most  faithful  friend — all 
that  she  knew  of  his  public  as  well  as  his  private  character 
since  she  had  known  him  by  that  of  Sobieski  alone. 

Sir  Robert's  letter  informed  his  sister  that  "a  providen- 
tial circumstance  had  introduced  Pembroke's  friend,  the 


TBADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  419 

Count  Sobieski,  to  his  presence,  when,  to  his  astonishment 
and  unutterable  satisfaction,  he  discovered  that  this  cele- 
brated young  hero  (though  one  of  a  nation  against  which 
he  had  so  often  declared  his  dislike,  but  which  ungenerous 
prejudice  he  now  abjured)  was  the  only  remaining  branch 
of  a  family  from  whom,  about  twenty-five  years  ago,  while 
in  a  country  far  distant  equally  from  England  or  Poland, 
he  had  received  many  kindnesses.  He  had  contracted  an 
immense  debt,  under  peculiarly  embarrassing  circum- 
stances to  himself,  when  then  an  alien  from  his  father's 
confidence.  And  his  benefactor  in  this  otherwise  inextri- 
cable dilemma  was  the  Palatine  of  Masovia,  the  world-re- 
vered grandfather  of  the  young  Count  Sobieski.  And," 
he  added,  "in  some  small  compensation  for  the  long- 
unredeemed  pecuniary  part  of  this  latter  obligation  (the  ful- 
fillment of  which  certain  adverse  events  on  the  continent 
had  continued  to  prevent),  he  had  besought  and  obtained 
permission  from  the  young  count,  now  in  England,  to  at 
once  set  at  rest  his  past  anxieties  to  settle  an  affair  of  so 
much  importance,  by  signing  over  to  him,  as  the  palatine's 
heir  and  representative,  the  sole  property  of  his  (Sir 
Robert's)  recently  purchased  new  domain — the  house  and 
estates  of  Manor  Court,  nearly  adjoining  to  those  of  Deer- 
hurst,  on  the  Warwick  side.  The  rent-roll  might  be 
about  five  thousand  pounds  per  annum.  And  there,  in 
immediate  right  of  possession,  the  noble  descendant  of  his 
munificent  friend  would  resume  his  illustrious  name,  and 
embrace,  with  a  generous  esteem  of  this  country's  national 
character,  a  lasting  home  and  filiation  in  England  !" 

Sir  Robert  closed  this  auspicious  letter  (which  he  had 
striven,  however,  to  write  in  such  a  manner  as  not  to 
betray  the  true  nature  of  the  parental  feelings  which 
dictated  it)  with  a  playful  expression  of  his  impatience  to 
present  to  his  sister  and  niece  "their  interesting  emigre  in 
a  character  which  reflected  so  much  honor  on  their  dis- 
cernment." 

The  impatience  was  indeed  shared,  though  in  different 
degrees  and  forms,  by  the  whole  little  party — the  soul  of 
one  in  it  totally  absorbed.  But  owing  to  some  insurmount- 
able obstacles,  occasioning  delays,  by  the  exhausted  state 
of  the  overwrought  Lady  Albina,  and  notwithstanding 
the  necessity  of  getting  on  as  fast  as  possible,  to  be  out  of 
the  reach  of  the  enraged  earl,  should  he  have  missed  and 


420  THADDEUS  OP  WAH8AW. 

traced  his  daughter  to  Somerset  Castle,  the  fugitives 
could  uot  start  till  late  in  the  afternoon  of  that  day,  and 
it  was  an  hour  or  more  past  midnight  before  they  arrived 
at  Deerhurst. 

The  family,  in  no  small  disappointment,  had  given  them 
up  for  the  night,  and  had  retired  to  their  rooms.  Miss 
Dorothy,  who  would  not  suffer  her  brother  to  be  disturbed, 
sent  the  two  young  ladies  to  their  chambers,  and  was 
crossing,  on  tiptoe,  the  long  picture-gallery  to  her  own 
apartment,  when  a  door  opening,  Pembroke,  in  his  dress- 
ing-gown and  slippers,  looked  out  on  hearing  the  stealthy 
step.  She  put  forth  her  hand  to  him  with  delight,  and  in  a 
low  voice  congratulated  him  on  the  change  in  Sir  Robert's 
mind,  kissed  his  cheek,  aud  told  him  to  prepare  for 
another  pleasant  surprise  in  the  morning.  Smiling  with 
these  words,  she  bade  him  good-night,  and  softly  proceeded 
to  her  chamber. 

Pembroke  had  thought  so  little  of  his  ever-merry  aunt's 
lively  promise  that  she  saw  him  one  of  the  latest  in  en- 
tering the  breakfast-parlor,  he  not  having  hastened  from 
his  usual  breezy  early  walk  over  the  neighboring  downs, 
where  Thaddeus  had  been  his  companion.  Miss  Dorothy 
gayly  reproached  her  nephew  for  his  undutiful  lack  of 
curiosity;  while  Mary,  with  a  glowing  cheek,  received  the 
glad  embrace  of  her  cousin,  who  gently  whispered  to  her, 
"Now  I  shall  see  together  the  two  beings  I  most  dearly 
love!  Oh!  the  happiness  contained  in  that  sight!" 
Mary's  vivid  blush  had  not  subsided  when  the  entrance  of 
Thaddeus,  and  his  agitated  bow,  overspread  her  neck  and 
brow  with  crimson.  A  sudden  dimness  obscured  her 
faculties,  and  she  scarcely  heard  the  animated  words  of  Sir 
Robert,  while  presenting  him  to  her  as  the  Count  Sobieski, 
the  beloved  grandson  of  one  who  had  deserved  the  warmest 
place  in  his  heart.  Whatever  he  was,  the  lowly  Constan- 
tine  or  the  distinguished  Sobieski,  she  was  conscious  that 
he  was  lord  of  hers;  and  withdrawing  her  hand  confusedly 
from  the  timid  and  thrilling  touch  of  him  she  would  have 
willingly  lingered  near  forever,  she  glided  toward  an  open 
casement,  where  the  fresh  air  helped  to  dispel  the  faint- 
ness  which  had  seized  her. 

After  Miss  Dorothy,  with  all  the  urbanity  of  her  nature, 
had  declared  her  welcome  to  the  count,  she  put  away  the 
coffee  that  was  handed  to  her  by  Pembroke,  and  said, 


THADDEUS  OP  WARSAW.  421 

with  a  smile,  "Before  I  taste  my  breakfast,  I  must  inform 
you,  Sir  Robert,  that  you  have  a  guest  in  this  house  you 
little  expect.  I  forbade  Miss  Beaufort's  saying  a  word, 
because,  as  we  are  told,  'the  first  tellers  of  unwelcome 
news  have  but  a  losing  office;'  vice  versd,  I  hoped  for  a 
gaining  one,  therefore  preserved  such  a  profitable  piece  of 
intelligence  for  my  own  promulgation.  Indeed,  I  doubt 
whether  it  will  not  win  me  a  pair  of  gloves  from  some 
folks  here,"  added  she,  glancing  archly  on  Pembroke, 
who  looked  round  at  this  whimsical  declaration.  "Suffice 
it  to  say,  that  yesterday  morning  Lady  Albina  Stanhope, 
looking  like  a  ghost,  and  her  poor  maid,  scared  almost  out 
of  her  wits,  arrived  in  a  hack-chaise  at  Somerset  Castle 
and  besought  our  protection.  Our  dear  Mary  embraced 
the  weeping  young  creature,  who,  amid  many  tears,  reca- 
pitulated the  injuries  she  had  suffered  since  she  had  been 
torn  from  her  mother's  remains  at  the  abbey.  The  latest 
outrage  of  her  cruel  father  was  his  intended  immediate 
marriage  with  the  vile  Lady  Olivia  Lovel,  and  his  com- 
mands that  Lady  Albina  should  the  same  evening  give  her 
hand  to  that  bad  woman's  nephew.  Ill  as  she  was  when 
she  received  these  disgraceful  orders,  she  determined  to 
prevent  the  horror  of  such  double  degradation  by  instantly 
quitting  the  house;  'and,'  added  she,  'whither  could  I  go? 
Ah !  I  could  think  of  none  so  likely  to  pity  the  unhappy 
victim  of  the  wickedness  I  fled  from  as  the  father  of  the 
kind  Mr.  Somerset.  He  had  told  me  we  were  relations;  I 
beseech  you,  kind  ladies,  to  be  my  friends!'  Certain  of 
your  benevolence,  my  dear  brother,"  continued  Miss 
Dorothy,  "I  stopped  this  sweet  girl's  petition  with  my 
caresses,  and  promised  her  a  gentler  father  in  Sir  Robert 
Somerset." 

"You  did  right,  Dorothy,"  returned  the  baronet; 
"though  the  earl  and  I  must  ever  be  strangers,  I  have  no 
enmity  to  his  children.  Where  is  this  just-principled 
young  lady?" 

Miss  Dorothy  informed  him  that,  in  consequence  of  her 
recent  grief  and  ill-treatment,  she  had  found  herself  too 
unwell  to  rise  with  the  family;  but  she  hoped  to  join  them 
at  noon. 

Pembroke  was  indeed  deeply  interested  in  this  intelli- 
gence. The  simple  graces  of  the  lovely  Albina  had  on  the 
first  interview  touched  his  heart.     Her  sufferings  at  Har- 


422  TBADDEU8  OF  WARSAW. 

rowby,  and  the  sensibility  which  her  ingenuous  nature 
exhibited  without  affectation  or  disguise,  had  left  her 
image  on  his  mind  long  after  they  parted.  He  now  gave 
the  reins  to  his  eager  imagination,  and  was  the  first  in  the 
saloon  to  greet  her  as  his  lovely  kinswoman. 

Sir  Robert  Somerset  welcomed  her  with  the  warmth  of 
a  parent,  and  the  amiable  girl  wept  in  happy  gratitude. 

During  this  scene,  Miss  Beaufort,  no  longer  able  to 
bear  the  restraint  of  company  nor  even  the  accidental 
encountering  of  his  eyes  whose  presence,  dear  as  it  was, 
oppressed  and  disconcerted  her,  walked  out  into  the  park. 
Though  it  was  the  latter  end  of  October,  the  weather 
continued  fine.  A  bright  sun  tempered  the  air  and  gilded 
the  yellow  leaves,  which  the  fresh  wind  drove  before  her 
into  a  thousand  glittering  eddies.  This  was  Mary's 
favorite  season.  She  ever  found  its  solemnity  infuse  a 
sacred  tenderness  into  her  soul.  The  rugged  form  of  care 
seemed  to  dissolve  under  the  magic  touch  of  sweet  nature. 
Forgetful  of  the  world's  anxieties,  she  felt  the  tranquilizing 
spirit  of  soothing  melancholy  that  shades  the  heart  of 
sorrow  with  a  veil  which  might  well  be  called  the  twilight 
of  the  mind ;  and  the  entranced  soul,  happy  in  its  dream, 
half-closes  its  bright  eye,  reluctant  to  perceive  that  such 
bland  repose  is  pillowed  on  the  shifting  clouds. 

Such  were  the  reflections  of  Miss  Beaufort,  after  her 
disturbed  thoughts  had  tossed  themselves,  in  a  sea  of 
doubts,  regarding  any  possible  interest  she  might  possess 
in  the  breast  of  Sobieski.  She  recalled  the  hours  they 
had  passed  together;  they  agitated  but  did  not  satisfy  her 
heart.  She  remembered  Pembroke's  vehement  declara- 
tion that  Thaddeus loved  her;  but  then  it  was  Pembroke's 
declaration,  not  his!  and  the  circumstances  in  which  it 
had  been  made  were  too  likely  to  mislead  the  wishes  of 
her  cousin.  And  then  Sobieski's  farewell  letter!  It  was 
noble— grateful;  but  where  appeared  the  glowing,  soul- 
pervading  sentiment  that  consumed  her  life  for  him?  Ex- 
hausted by  the  anguish  of  this  suspense,  she  resolved  to 
resign  her  future  fate  to  Providence.  Turning  her  gaze 
on  the  lovely  objects  around,  she  soon  found  the  genius  of 
the  season  absorb  her  wholly.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  her 
eyes  became  humid,  and  casting  their  mild  radiance  on 
the  fading  flowers  beneath,  she  pursued  her  way  through 
a  cloud  of  fragrance.     It  was  the  last  breath  of  the  expir- 


TBADDBUS  OF  WARSA  W.  423 

ing  year.  Love  is  full  of  imagination.  Mary  easily  glided 
from  the  earth's  departing  charms  to  her  own  she  thought 
waning  beauty;  the  chord  once  touched,  every  note 
vibrated,  and  hope  and  fear,  joy  and  regret,  again  dispos- 
sessed her  lately  acquired  serenity. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 

AN    AVOWAL. 

After  some  little  time,  Lady  Albina,  having  missed 
Miss  Beaufort,  expressed  a  wish  to  walk  out  in  search  of 
her,  and  the  two  brothers  offered  their  attendance.  But 
before  her  ladyship  had  passed  through  the  first  park,  she 
complained  of  fatigue.  Pembroke  urged  her  to  enter  a 
shepherd's  hut  close  by,  while  the  Count  Sobieski  would 
proceed  alone  in  quest  of  his  cousin. 

With  a  beating  heart  Thaddeus  undertook  this  commis- 
sion. Hastening  along  the  nearest  dell  with  the  lightness 
of  a  young  hunter,  he  mounted  the  heights,  descended  to 
the  glades,  traversed  one  woody  nook  and  then  another, 
but  could  see  no  trace  of  Miss  Beaufort.  Supposing  she 
had  returned  to  the  house,  he  was  slackening  his  pace  to 
abandon  the  search,  when  he  caught  a  glimpse  of  her 
figure  as  she  turned  the  corner  of  a  thicket  leading  to  a 
terrace  above.  In  an  instant  he  was  at  her  side,  and  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand,  and  a  glowing  cheek,  he  repeated  his 
errand. 

Mary  blushed,  faltered,  and  became  strangely  alarmed 
at  finding  herself  alone  with  him.  Though  he  now  stood 
before  her  in  a  quality  which  she  ever  believed  was  his 
right,  the  remembrance  of  what  had  passed  between  them 
in  other  circumstances  confounded  and  overwhelmed  her. 
When  Constantine  was  poor  and  unfriended,  it  seemed  a 
sacred  privilege  to  pity  and  to  love  him.  When  the  same 
Constantine  appeared  as  a  man  of  rank,  invested  with  a 
splendid  fortune  and  extensive  fame,  she  felt  lost — anni- 
hilated. The  cloud  which  had  obscured,  not  extinguished, 
his  glory  was  dispersed.  He  was  that  Sobieski  whom  she 
had  admired  unseen;  he  was  that  Constantine  whom  she 
had  loved  unknown;  he  was  that  Sobieski,  that  Constan- 


424  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

tine,  whom,  seen  and  known,  she  now,  alas!  loved  almost 
to  adoration! 

Oppressed  by  the  weight  of  these  emotions,  she  only 
bowed  to  what  he  said,  and  gathering  her  cloak  from  the 
winds  which  blew  it  around  her,  was  hurrying  with  down- 
ward eyes  to  the  stairs  of  the  terrace,  when  her  foot 
slipped,  and  she  must  have  fallen,  had  not  Thaddeus 
caught  her  in  his  ready  arm.  She  rose  with  a  blushing 
face,  and  the  color  did  not  recede  when  she  found  that  he 
had  not  relinquished  her  hand.  Her  heart  beat  violently, 
her  head  became  giddy,  her  feet  lost  their  power.  Find- 
ing that,  after  a  slight  attempt  to  withdraw  her  hand,  he 
still  held  it  fast,  though  in  a  trembling  grasp,  and  nearly 
overcome  by  inexplicable  distress,  she  turned  away  her  face 
to  conceal  its  confusion. 

Thaddeus  saw  all  this,  and  with  a  fluttering  hope,  in- 
stead of  surrendering  the  hand  he  had  retained,  he  made 
it  a  yet  closer  prisoner  by  clasping  it  in  both  his.  _  Pressing 
it  earnestly  to  his  breast,  he  said  in  a  hurried  voice,  while 
his  earnest  eyes  poured  all  their  beams  upon  her  averted 
cheek,  "Surely  Miss  Beaufort  will  not  deny  me  the  dear- 
est happiness  I  possess— the  privilege  of  being  grateful  to 
her?" 

He  paused:  his  soul  was  too  full  for  utterance;  and 
raising  Mary's  hand  from  his  heart  to  his  lips,  he  kissed 
it  fervently.  Almost  fainting,  Miss  Beaufort  leaned  her 
head  against  a  tree  of  the  thicket  where  they  were  stand- 
ing. The  thought  of  the  confession  which  Pembroke  had 
extorted  from  her,  and  dreading  that  its  fullness  might 
have  been  imparted  to  him,  and  that  all  this  was  rather 
the  tribute  of  gratitude  than  of  love,  she  waved  her  other 
hand  in  sign  for  him  to  leave  her. 

Such  extraordinary  confusion  in  her  manner  palsied  the 
warm  and  blissful  emotions  of  the  count.  He,  too,  began 
to  blame  the  sanguine  representation  of  his  friend;  and 
fearing  that  he  had  offended  her,  that  she  might  suppose 
he  presumed  on  her  kindness,  he  stood  for  a  moment  in 
silent  astonishment;  then  dropping  on  his  knee  (hardly 
conscious  of  the  action),  declared  in  an  agitated  voice  his 
sense  of  having  given  this  offense;  at  the  same  time  he 
ventured  to  repeat,  with  equally  modest  energy,  the  soul- 
devoted  passion  he  had  so  long  endeavored  to  seal  up  in 
his  lonely  breast. 


TBADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  425 

"But  forgive  me!"  added  he,  with  increased  earnest- 
ness; "forgive  me,  in  justice  to  your  own  virtues.  In 
what  has  just  passed,  I  feel  I  ought  to  have  only  expressed 
thanks  for  your  goodness  to  an  unfortunate  exile;  but  if 
my  words  or  manner  have  obeyed  the  more  fervid  impulse 
of  my  soul,  and  declared  aloud  what  is  its  glory  in  secret, 
blame  my  nature,  most  respected  Miss  Beaufort,  not  my 
presumption.  I  have  not  dared  to  look  steadily  on  any 
aim  higher  than  your  esteem." 

Mary  knew  not  how  to  receive  this  address.  The  posi- 
tion in  which  he  uttered  it,  his  countenance  when  she 
turned  to  answer  him,  were  both  demonstrative  of  some- 
thing less  equivocal  than  his  speech.  He  was  still  grasp- 
ing the  drapery  of  her  cloak,  and  his  eyes,  from  which  the 
wind  blew  back  his  fine  hair,  were  beaming  upon  her  full 
of  that  piercing  tenderness  which  at  once  dissolves  and 
assures  the  soul. 

She  passed  her  hand  over  her  eyes.  Her  soul  was  in  a 
tumult.  She  too  fondly  wished  to  believe  that  he  loved 
her  to  trust  the  evidence  of  what  she  saw.  His  words 
were  ambiguous,  and  that  was  sufficient  to  fill  her  with 
uncertainty.  Jealous  of  that  delicacy  which  is  the  parent 
of  love,  and  its  best  preserver,  she  checked  the  overflow- 
ings of  her  heart,  and  while  her  concealed  face  streamed 
with  tears,  conjured  him  to  rise.  Instinctively  she  held 
out  her  hand  to  assist  him.  He  obeyed;  and  hardly  com 
scious  of  what  she  said,  she  continued: 

"You  have  done  nothing,  Count  Sobieski,  to  offend 
me.  I  was  fearful  of  my  own  conduct — that  you  might 
have  supposed — I  mean,  unfortunate  appearances  might 
lead  you  to  imagine  that  I  was  influenced — was  so  forgetful 
of  myself " 

"Cease,  madam!  Cease,  for  pity's  sake!"  cried  Thad- 
deus,  starting  back,  and  dropping  her  hand.  Every 
motion  which  faltered  on  her  tongue  had  met  an  answer- 
ing pang  in  his  breast. 

Fearing  that  he  had  set  his  heart  on  the  possession  of  a 
treasure  totally  out  of  his  reach,  he  knew  not  how  high 
had  been  his  hope  until  he  felt  the  depth  of  his  despair. 
Taking  up  his  hat,  which  lay  on  the  grass,  with  a  counte- 
nance from  which  every  gleam  of  joy  was  banished,  he 
bowed  respectfully,  and  in  a  lower  tone  continued:  "The 
dependent  situation  in  which  I  appeared  at  Lady  Dundaa' 


426  THADDEUS  OP  WAESA  W. 

being  ever  before  my  eyes,  I  was  not  so  absurd  as  to  sup- 
pose that  any  lady  could  then  notice  me  from  any  other 
sentiment  than  humanity.  That  I  excited  this  humanity, 
where  alone  I  was  proud  to  awaken  it,  was,  in  these  hours 
of  dejection,  my  sole  comfort.  It  consoled  me  for  the 
friends  I  had  lost;  it  repaid  me  for  the  honors  which  were 
no  more.  But  that  is  past!  Seeing  no  further  cause  for 
compassion,  you  deem  the  delusion  no  longer  necessary. 
Since  you  will  not  allow  me  an  individual  distinction  in 
having  attracted  your  benevolence,  though  I  am  to  ascribe 
,it  all  to  a  charity  as  diffused  as  effective,  yet  I  must  ever 
acknowledge  with  the  deepest  gratitude  that  I  owe  my 
present  home  and  happiness  to  Miss  Beaufort.  Further 
than  this,  I  shall  not — I  dare  not — presume." 

These  words  shifted  all  the  count's  anguish  to  Mary's 
breast.  She  perceived  the  offended  delicacy  which 
actuated  each  syllable  as  it  fell;  and  fearful  of  having  lost 
everything  by  her  cold  and  what  might  appear  haughty 
reply,  she  opened  her  lips  to  say  what  might  better  explain 
her  meaning;  but  her  heart  failing  her,  she  closed  them 
again,  and  continued  to  walk  in  silence  by  his  side. 
Having  allowed  the  opportunity  to  escape,  she  believed 
that  all  hopes  of  exculpation  were  at  an  end.  Not  daring 
to  look  up,  she  cast  a  despairing  glance  at  Sobieski's 
graceful  figure  as  he  walked,  equally  silent,  near  her. 
His  arms  were  folded,  his  hat  pulled  over  his  forehead, 
and  his  long  dark  eyelashes,  shading  his  downward  eyes, 
imparted  a  dejection  to  his  whole  air  which  wrapped  her 
weeping  heart  round  and  round  with  regretful  paugs. 

"Ah!"  thought  she,  "though  the  offspring  of  but  one 
moment,  they  will  prey  on  my  peace  forever." 

At  the  turning  of  a  little  wooded  knoll,  the  mute  and 
pensive  pair  heard  the  sound  of  some  one  on  the  other 
side,  approaching  them  through  the  dry  leaves.  In  a 
minute  after  Sir  Robert  Somerset  appeared. 

While  his  father  advanced  smiling  toward  him,  Thad- 
deus  attempted  to  dispel  the  gloom  of  his  countenance, 
but  not  succeeding,  he  bowed  abruptly  to  the  agitated 
Mary,  and  hastily  said,  "I  will  leave  Miss  Beaufort  in 
your  protection,  sir,  and  go  myself  to  see  whether  Lady 
Albina  be  recovered  from  her  fatigue." 

"I  thought  to  find  you  all  together,"  returned  Sir 
Robert;  "where  is  her  ladyship?" 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  427 

"I  left  her  with  Pembroke,  in  a  hut  by  the  river,"  said 
Thaddeus,  and  bowing  again,  he  hurried  away,  while  his 
father  called  after  him  to  return  in  a  few  minutes,  and 
accompany  him  in  a  walk. 

The  departure  of  Sobieski,  when  he  had  come  expressly 
to  attend  her  to  Lady  Albina,  nearly  overwhelmed  Miss 
Beaufort's  before-exhausted  spirits.  Hardly  knowing 
whether  to  remain  or  retreat,  she  was  attempting  the 
latter,  when  her  guardian  caught  her  hand. 

"Stay,  Mary!"  cried  he;  "you  surely  would  not  leave 
me  alone?" 

Miss  Beaufort's  tears  had  gushed  over  her  eyes  the 
moment  her  back  was  turned,  and  as  Sir  Kobert  drew  her 
toward  him,  to  his  extreme  amazement  he  saw  that  she 
was  weeping.  At  a  sight  so  unexpected,  the  smile  of 
hilarity  left  his  lips.  Putting  his  arm  tenderly  round  her 
waist  (for  now  that  her  distress  had  discovered  itself,  her 
emotion  became  so  great  that  she  could  hardly  stand),  he 
inquired  in  a  kindly  manner  what  had  affected  her. 

She  answered  by  sobs  only,  until  finding  it  impossible 
to  break  away  from  her  uncle's  arms,  she  hid  her  face  in 
his  bosom  and  gave  vent  to  the  full  tide  of  her  tears. 

Recollecting'the  strange  haste  in  which  Thaddeus  had 
hurried  from  them,  and  remembering  Miss  Beaufort's 
generosity  to  him  in  town,  followed  by  her  succeeding 
melancholy,  Sir  Kobert  at  once  united  these  circumstances 
with  her  present  confusion,  and  conceiving  an  instanta- 
neous suspicion  of  the  reailty,  pressed  her  with  redoubled 
affection  to  his  bosom. 

"I  fear,  my  dearest  girl,"  said  he,  "that  something 
disagreeable  has  happened  between  you  and  the  Count 
Sobieski.  Perhaps  he  has  offended  you?  perhaps  he  has 
found  my  sweet  Mary  too  amiable?" 

Alarmed  at  this  supposition,  after  a  short  struggle  she 
answered,  "Oh,  no,  sir!  It  is  I  who  have  offended  him. 
He  thinks  I  pride  myself  on  the  insignificant  services  I 
rendered  to  him  in  London." 

This  reply  convinced  the  baronet  that  he  had  not  been 
premature  in  his  judgment,  and,  with  a  new-born  delight 
springing  in  his  soul,  he  inquired  why  she  thought  so. 
Had  she  given  him  any  reason  to  believe  so? 

Mary  trembled  at  saying  more.  Dreading  that  every 
word  she  might  utter  would  betray  how  highly  she  prized 


428  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

the  count's  esteem,  she  faltered,  hesitated,  stopped.  Sir 
Kobert  put  the  question  a  second  time,  in  different  terms. 

"My  loved  Mary,"  said  he,  seating  her  by  him  on  the 
trunk  of  a  fallen  tree,  "I  am  sincerely  anxious  that  you 
and  this  young  nobleman  should  regard  each  other  as 
friends.  He  is  very  dear  to  me;  and  you  cannot  doubt, 
my  sweet  girl,  my  affection  for  yourself.  Tell  me,  there- 
fore, the  cause  of  this  little  misunderstanding." 

Miss  Beaufort  took  courage  at  this  speech.  Drying 
her  glowing  eyes,  though  still  concealing  them  with  a 
handkerchief,  she  replied  in  a  firmer  voice,  "I  believe, 
sir,  the  fault  lies  totally  on  my  side.  The  Count  Sobieski 
met  me  on  the  terrace,  and  thanked  me  for  what  I  had. 
done  for  him.  I  acted  very  weakly;  I  was  confused. 
Indeed  I  knew  not  what  he  said;  but  he  fell  upon  his 
knees,  and  I  became  so  disconcerted,  so  frightened  at  the 
idea  of  his  having  attributed  my  conduct  to  indelicacy,  or 
forwardness,  that  I  answered  something  which  offended 
him,  and  I  am  sure  he  now  thinks  me  unfeeling  and 
proud." 

Sir  Kobert  kissed  her  throbbing  forehead  as  she  ended 
this  rapid  and  hardly  articulated  explanation. 

''Tell  me  candidly,  my  dearest  Mary!"  rejoined  the 
baronet,  "can  you  believe  that  a  man  of  Sobieski's  dis- 
position would  bend  his  knee  to  a  woman  whom  he  did  not 
both  respect  and  love?  Simple  gratitude,  my  dear  girl, 
is  not  so  earnest.  You  have  said  enough  to  convince  me, 
whatever  may  be  your  sentiments,  that  you  are  the  mis- 
tress of  his  fate;  and  if  he  should  mention  it  to  me,  may 
I  describe  to  him  the  scene  which  has  now  passed  between 
us?  May  I  tell  him  that  its  just  inference  would  requite 
his  tenderness  with  more  than  your  thanks  and  best 
wishes?" 

Miss  Beaufort,  who  believed  that  the  count  must  now 
despise  her,  looked  down  to  conceal  the  wretchedness 
which  spoke  through  her  eyes,  and  with  a  half-suppressed 
sigh,  answered,  "I  will  not  deny  that  I  deeply  esteem  the 
Count  Sobieski.  I  admired  his  character  before  I  saw 
him,  and  when  I  did  see  him,  although  ignorant  that  it 
was  he,  the  impression  seemed  the  same.  Yet  I  never 
aspired  to  any  place  in  his  heart,  or  even  his  remembrance: 
I  could  not  have  the  presumjition.  Therefore,  my  dear 
uncle,"  added  she,  laying  her  trembling  hand  on  his  arm, 


THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  429 

"I  beseech  you,  as  you  value  my  feelings,  my  peace  of 
mind,  never  to  breathe  a  syllable  of  my  weakness  to  him. 
I  think,"  added  she,  clasping  her  hands  with  energy,  and 
forgetting  the  force  of  her  expression,  "I  would  sooner 
suffer  death  than  lose  his  respect." 

"And  yet,"  inquired  Sir  Eobert,  "you  will  at  some 
future  period  give  your  hand  to  another  man?" 

Mary,  who  did  not  consider  the  extent  of  this  insidious 
question,  answered  with  fervor,  "Never!  I  never  can  be 
happier  than  I  am,"  added  she,  with  breathless  haste. 
Seeing,  by  the  smile  on  Sir  Eobert's  lips,  that  far  more 
had  been  declared  by  her  manner  than  her  words  in- 
tended, and  fearful  of  betraying  herself  further,  she  begged 
permission  to  retire  to  the  house. 

The  baronet  took  her  hand,  and  reseating  her  by  him, 
continued,  "No,  my  Mary;  you  shall  not  leave  me  unless 
you  honestly  avow  what  your  sentiments  are  toward  the 
Count  Sobieski.  You  know,  my  sweet  girl,  that  I  have 
tried  to  make  you  regard  me  as  a  father — to  induce  you  to 
receive  from  my  love  the  treble  affection  of  your  deceased 
parents  and  my  lamented  wife.  If  her  dear  niece  do  not 
deny  this,  she  cannot  treat  me  with  reserve." 

Miss  Beaufort  was  unable  to  speak.  Sir  Robert  pro- 
ceeded: 

"I  will  not  overwhelm  your  shrinking  delicacy  by  re- 
peating the  inquiry  whether  I  have  mistaken  the  source 
of  your  recent  and  present  emotion;  only  allow  me  to 
bestow  some  encouragement  on  the  count's  attachment, 
should  he  claim  my  services  in  its  behalf." 

Mary  drew  her  uncle's  hand  to  her  lips,  and  while  her 
dropping  tears  fell  upon  it,  she  threw  herself,  like  a  con- 
fiding child,  on  her  knees,  and  replied  in  a  timid  voice: 
"I  should  be  a  monster  of  ingratitude  could  I  hide  any- 
thing from  you,  my  dearest  sir,  after  this  goodness!  I 
confess  that  I  do  regard  the  Count  Sobieski  more  than 
any  being  on  earth.  Who  could  see  and  know  him  and 
think  it  possible  to  become  another's?" 

"And  you  shall  be  his,  my  darling  Mary!"  cried  the 
baronet,  mingling  his  own  blissful  tears  with  hers.  "I 
once  hoped  to  have  contrived  an  attachment  between  you 
and  Pembroke,  but  Heaven  has  decreed  it  better.  When 
you  and  Thaddeus  are  united,  I  shall  be  happy;  I  may 
then  die  in  peace." 

Miss  Beaufort   sighed    heavily.     She  could    not    yet 


430  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

quite  participate  in  her  uncle's  rapture.  She  thought 
that  she  had  insulted  and  disgusted  the  count  by 
her  late  behavior,  beyond  his  excuse,  and  was  opening 
her  lips  to  urge  it  again,  when  the  object  of  their  conver- 
sation appeared  at  a  short  distance,  coming  toward  them. 

Full  of  renewed  trepidation,  she  burst  from  the  baronet's 
hand,  and  taking  to  flight,  left  her  uncle  to  meet  Sobieski 
alone. 

Sir  Robert's  anxious  question  on  the  same  subject  re- 
ceived a  more  rapid  reply  from  Thaddeus  than  had  pro- 
ceeded from  the  reluctant  Miss  Beaufort.  The  animated 
gratitude  of  Sobieski,  the  ardent  yet  respectful  manner 
with  which  he  avowed  her  eminence  in  his  heart  above  all 
other  women,  convinced  the  baronet  that  Mary's  retreat- 
ing delicacy  had  misinformed  her.  A  complete  explana- 
tion was  the  consequence;  and  Thaddeus,  who  had  not 
been  more  sanguine  in  his  hopes  than  was  his  lovely  mis- 
tress in  hers,  now  allowed  the  clouds  over  his  so  lately 
darkened  eyes  to  disappear. 

Impatient  to  see  these  two  beings,  so  dear  to  his  soul, 
repose  confidently  in  each  other's  affection,  the  moment 
Sir  Robert  returned  to  the  house,  he  asked  his  sister  for 
Miss  Beaufort.  Miss  Dorothy  replied  that  she  had  seen 
her  about  half  an  hour  ago  retire  to  her  own  apartments; 
the  baronet,  therefore,  sent  a  servant  to  beg  that  she 
would  meet  him  in  the  library. 

This  message  found  her  in  a  paroxysm  of  distress.  She 
reproached  herself  for  her  imprudence,  her  temerity,  her 
unwomanly  conduct,  in  having  given  away  her  heart  to  a 
man  who  she  again  began  to  torment  herself  by  believing 
had  never  desired  it.  She  remembered  that  her  weakness, 
not  her  sincerity,  had  betrayed  this  humiliating  secret  to 
Sir  Robert;  and  nearly  distracted,  she  lay  on  the  bed, 
almost  hoping  that  she  was  in  a  miserable  dream,  when 
her  maid  entered  with  the  baronet's  commands. 

Disdaining  herself,  and  determining  to  regain  some 
portion  of  her  own  respect  by  steadily  opposing  all  her 
uncle's  deluding  hopes,  with  an  assumed  serenity  she 
arrived  at  the  study  door.  She  laid  her  hand  on  the  lock, 
but  the  moment  it  yielded  to  her  touch  all  her  firmness 
vanished.  Trembling,  and  pale  as  death,  she  appeared 
before  him. 

Sir  Robert,  having  supported  her  to  a  chair,  with  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WATtSA  W.  431 

most  affectionate  and  tender  expressions  of  paternal  exul- 
tation repeated  to  her  the  sum  of  his  conversation  with 
the  count.  Mary  was  almost  wild  at  this  discourse.  So 
inconsistent  and  erratic  is  the  passion  of  love  when  it 
reigns  in  woman's  breast,  she  forgot  in  an  instant  the 
looks  and  voice  of  Thaddeus;  she  forgot  her  terror  of 
having  forfeited  his  affection  by  her  affected  coldness 
alone;  and  dreading  that  the  first  proposal  of  their  union 
had  proceeded  from  her  uncle,  she  buried  her  agitated 
face  in  her  hands,  and  exclaimed,  "Oh,  sir!  I  fear  that 
you  have  made  me  forever  hateful  in  my  own  eyes  and 
despicable  in  those  of  the  Count  Sobieski!" 

Sir  Robert  looked  on  her  emotion  with  a  smiling  but  a 
pitying  gaze,  reading  in  all  the  unaffected  apprehensive 
modesty  of  that  noble  maiden's  heart, 

'Well,"  cried  he,  in  a  gentle  raillery  of  tone,  "my 
own  beloved  one!  if  thy  guardian  uncle'  cannot  prevail 
over  this  wayward  fancifulness,  so  unlike  his  ingenuous 
Mary  s  usual  fair  dealing  with  the  truth  of  othersf  I  must 
call  in  even  a  better-accredited  pleader,  and  shall  then 
leave  my  object  the  balance  of  justice  and  mercy,  in 
equally  beloved  hands."  J 

While  he  spoke,  he  rose  and  opened  a  door  that  ied  to 
an  adjoining  room.  Miss  Beaufort  would  have  flown 
through  another  had  not  Sir  Robert  suddenly  stood  in  her 
way.  He  threw  his  arm  about  her,  and  turning  round 
she  savy  the  count,  who  had  entered,  regarding  her  with 
an  anxiety  which  covered  her  before  pale  features  with 
blushes. 

His  father  bade  him  come  near.  Sobieski  obeyed, 
though  with  a  step  that  expressed  how  reluctant  he  was 
to  oppress  the  woman  he  so  truly  loved.  Mary's  face  was 
now  hidden  in  her  uncle's  boeom.  Sir  Robert  put  her 
trembling  hand  into  that  of  his  son,  who,  dropping  on  his 
knee  said,  in  an  agitated  voice  "Honored,  dearest  Miss 
Beaufort!  may  I  indulge  myself  in  the  idea  that  I  am 
blessed  with  your  regard?" 

She  could  not  reply,  but  whispered  to  her  uncle,  "Prav 
sir,  desire  him  to  rise!     I  am  overwhelmed." 

"My  sweet  Mary!"  returned  the  baronet,  pressing  her 
to  his  breast,  this  is  no  time  for  deception  on  either  side. 
I  know  both  your  hearts.  Rise,  Thaddeus,"  said  he  to 
the  count,  while  he  locked  both  their  hands  within  his, 


432  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

"  Take  him,  Mary  !  Eeceive  from  your  guardian  his  most 
precious  gift — my  matchless  and  injured  son/' 

The  abruptness  of  the  first  part  of  this  speech  might 
have  shocked  her  exhausted  spirits  to  insensibility,  had 
not  the  extraordinary  assertion  at  its  end,  and  Sir  Robert's 
audible  sobs,  aroused  and  surprised  her. 

"  Your  son  !  "  exclaimed  she  ;  "  what  do  you  mean,  my 
uncle  ?  " 

"  Thaddeus  will  explain  all  to  you,"  returned  he.  "  May 
Heaven  bless  you  both  ! " 

Mary  was  too  much  astonished  to  think  of  following  her 
agitated  uncle  out  of  the  room.  She  sank  on  a  seat,  and 
turning  her  gaze  full  of  amazement  toward  the  count, 
seemed  to  ask  an  explanation.  Thaddeus,  who  still  re- 
tained her  passive  hand,  pressed  it  warmly  to  his  heart  ; 
and  while  his  effulgent  eyes  were  beaming  on  her  with 
joyous  love,  he  imparted  to  her  a  concise  but  impressive 
narrative  of  his  relationship  with  Sir  Robert.  He  touched 
with  short  yet  deep  enthusiasm,  with  more  than  one  tear- 
ful pause,  on  the  virtues  of  his  mother  ;  he  acknowledged 
the  unbounded  gratitude  which  was  due  to  that  God  who 
had  so  wonderfully  conducted  him  to  lind  a  parent  and  a 
home  in  England,  and  with  renewed  pathos  of  look  and 
manner  ratified  the  proffer  which  Sir  Robert  had  made  of 
his  heart  and  hand  to  her  who  alone  ou  this  earth  had 
reminded  him  of  that  angelic  parent.  "  I  have  seen  her 
beloved  face,  luminous  in  purity  and  tender  pity,  reflected 
in  yours,  ever-honored  Miss  Beaufort,  when  your  noble 
heart,  more  than  once,  looked  in  compassion  on  her  son. 
And  I  then  felt,  with  a  wondering  bewilderment,  a  sacred 
response  in  my  soul,  though  I  could  not  explain  it  to 
myself.  But  since  then  that  sister  spirit  of  my  mother 
has  often  whispered  it  as  if  direct  from  heaven." 

Mary  had  listened  with  uncontrollable  emotion  to  this 
interesting  detail.  Her  eyes  overflowed  :  their  ingenuous 
language,  enforced  by  the  warm  blood  which  glowed  on 
her  cheek,  did  not  require  the  medium  of  words  to  declare 
what  was  passing  in  her  mind.  Thaddeus  gazed  on  her 
with  a  certainty  of  bliss  which  penetrated  his  soul  until 
its  raptures  almost  amounted  to  pain.  The  heart  may 
ache  with  joy  ;  neither  sighs  nor  language  could  express 
what  passed  in  his  mind.  He  held  her  hand  to  his  lips; 
his  other  arm  fell  unconsciously  round  her  waist,  and  in  a 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  433 

moment  he  found  that  he  had  pressed  her  to  his  breast. 
His  heart  beat  violently.  Miss  Beaufort  rose  instantane- 
ously from  her  chair;  but  her  pure  nature  needed  no 
disguise.  She  looked  up  to  him,  while  her  blushing  eyes 
were  shedding  tears  of  delight,  and  said  in  a  trembling 
voice:  "Tell  my  dear  uncle  that  Mary  Beaufort  glories  in 
the  means  by  which  she  becomes  his  daughter." 

She  moved  to  the  door.  Thaddeus,  whose  full  tide  of 
transport  denied  him  utterance,  only  clasped  her  hands 
again  to  his  lips  and  bosom;  then,  relinquishing  them,  he 
suffered  her  to  quit  the  room. 


CHAPTEE  XLVIII. 

A   FAMILY    PARTY. 

The  magnificent  establishment  which  this  projected 
union  offered  to  Sobieski  seemed  to  heal  the  yet  bleeding 
conscience  of  Sir  Eobert  Somerset.  Although  he  had 
acquiesced  in  the  count's  generous  surrender  of  the 
family  inherited  honors,  his  heart  remained  still  ill  at 
ease.  Every  dutiful  expression  from  his  long-neglected 
son  at  times  had  stung  him  with  remorse.  But  Miss 
Beaufort's  avowed  and  returned  affection  at  once  removed 
the  lingering  accuser  from  his  bosom.  Mistress  of  immense 
wealth,  her  hand  would  not  only  put  the  injured  Thaddeus 
in  possession  of  the  pure  delights  which  only  a  mutual 
sympathy  can  bestow,  but  would  enable  his  munificent 
spirit  to  again  exert  itself  in  the  worthy  disposal  of  an 
almost  princely  fortune. 

<  Such  meditations  having  followed  the  now  tranquilized 
baronet  to  his  pillow,  they  brought  him  into  the  breakfast- 
parlor  next  day  full  of  that  calm  pleasure  which  promises 
a  steady  continuance.  The  happy  family  were  assembled. 
Miss  Dorothy  saluted  her  brother,  whose  brightened  eye 
declared  that  he  had  something  pleasant  to  communicate; 
and  he  did  not  keep  her  in  suspense.  With  the  first  cup 
of  coffee  the  good  lady  poured  out,  his  grateful  heart  un- 
burdened itself  of  the  delightful  tidings  that  ere  many 
months,  perhaps  weeks,  he  had  reason  to  hope  Miss  Beau- 
fort would  give  her  hand  to  the  Count  Hobieski.     Pern- 


434  THADDEUS  OF  WARS  A  W. 

broke  was  the  only  hearer  who  did  not  evince  surprise  at 
this  announcement.  Every  one  else  had  been  kept  unin- 
formed, on  the  especial  injunction  of  Sir  Robert,  who 
desired  its  knowledge  to  be  withheld  till  he  had  completed 
some  necessary  preliminaries  in  his  mind.  But  Thad- 
deus,  by  the  permission  of  the  happy  parent,  during  a 
long  and  interesting  conversation  in  his  library,  which 
passed  between  the  father  and  his  new-found  son,  imme- 
diately after  the  latter's  blissful  parting  with  his  then 
heart-affianced  Mary,  had  hastened  to  his  brother,  and 
retiring  with  him  to  his  little  study,  there  communicated, 
in  full  and  enraptured  confidence,  the  whole  events  of  the 
recent  mutual  explanations. 

During  Sir  Robert's  animated  disclosure,  Mary's  blush- 
ing yet  grateful  eyes  sought  a  veil  in  a  branch  of  geranium 
which  she  held  in  her  trembling  hand. 

Miss  Dorothy  rose  from  her  chair;  her  smiling  tears 
spoke  more  than  her  lips  when  she  pressed  first  her  niece 
and  then  the  Count  Sobieski  in  her  venerable  arms. 

"Heaven  bless  you  both!"  cried  she.  "This  marriage 
will  be  the  glory  of  my  age." 

Miss  Beaufort  turned  from  the  embrace  of  her  aunt  to 
meet  the  warm  congratulations  of  Pembroke.  While  he 
kissed  her  burning  cheek,  he  whispered,  loud  enough  for 
every  one  to  hear:  "And  why  may  I  not  brighten  in  my 
good  aunt's  triumph?  Attempt  it,  dear  Mary!  If  you 
can  persuade  my  father  to  allow  me  to  make  myself  as 
happy  with  Lady  Albina  Stanhope  as  you  will  render 
Sobieski,  I  shall  forever  bless  you !" 

Lady  Albina  colored  and  looked  down.  Sir  Robert 
took  her  hand  with  pleased  surprise.  "Do  you,  my 
lovely  guest — do  you  sanction  what  this  bold  boy  has  just 

said?" 

Lady  Albina  made  no  answer;  but,  blushing  deeper  than 
before,  cast  a  sidelong  glance  at  Pembroke,  as  if  to  peti- 
tion his  support.  He  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant;  then 
seriously  and  earnestly  entreating  his  father's  consent  to  a 
union  with  their  gentle  kinswoman  (whose  approbation 
he  had  obtained  the  preceding  day  in  the  shepherd's  hut), 
he  awaited  with  anxiety  the  sounds  which  seemed  falter- 
ing on  Sir  Robert's  lips. 

The  baronet,  quite  overcome  by  his  ever-beloved  Pem- 
broke having,  like  his  brother,  disposed  of  his  heart  so 


TIIADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  435 

much  to  his  own  honor,  found  himself  unable  to  say  what 
he  wished.  Joining  the  hands  of  the  two  young  people 
in  silence,  he  hurried  out  of  the  room.  He  ascended  to 
the  library,  where,  kneeling  down,  he  returned  devout 
thanks  to  that  "all-gracious  Being  who  had  crowned  one 
so  unworthy  with  blessings  so  conspicuous." 

Thaddeus,  no  less  than  his  father,  remembered  the 
hand  which,  having  guided  him  through  a  sharply  beset 
wilderness  of  sorrow,  had  in  so  short  a  term  conducted  , 
him  to  an  Eden  of  bliss.  Long  afterward,  when  years 
had  passed  over  his  happy  head,  and  his  days  became 
dedicated  to  various  important  duties,  public  and  private, 
attendant  on  his  station  in  life  and  the  landed  power  he 
held  in  his  adopted  country,  never  did  he  forget  that  he 
was  "only  a  steward  of  the  world's  Benefactor!"  The 
sense  of  whose  deputy  he  was  gave  to  his  heart  a  grateful 
conviction  that  in  whatever  spot  he  might  be  so  placed, 
he  was  to  consider  it  as  his  country — the  Canaan  of  his 
commission. 

Before  the  lapse  of  a  week,  it  became  expedient  that  Sir 
Robert  should  hasten  the  marriage  of  Pembroke  with 
Lady  Albina,  or  be  forced  by  law  to  yield  her  to  the  de- 
mands of  her  father.  After  much  search,  Lord  Tine- 
mouth  had  discovered  that  his  daughter  was  under  the 
protection  of  Sir  Eobert  Somerset.  Inflamed  with  rage 
and  revenge,  he  sent  to  order  her  immediate  return,  under 
pain  of  an  instantaneous  appeal  to  the  courts  of  judica- 
ture. 

Too  well  aware  that  her  non-age  laid  her  open  to  the 
realization  of  this  threat,  Lady  Albina  fell  into  the  most 
alarming  swoonings  on  the  first  communication  of  the 
message.  Sir  Robert  urged  that  in  her  circumstances  no 
authority  could  be  opposed  to  the  earl's  excepting  that  of 
a  husband's;  and  on  this  consideration  she  complied  with 
his  arguments  and  the  prayers  of  her  lover,  to  directly 
give  that  power  into  the  hands  of  Pembroke. 

Accordingly,  with  as  little  delay  as  possible,  accom- 
panied by  Miss  Dorothy  and  the  enraptured  Mr.  Somerset, 
the  terrified  Lady  Albina  commenced  her  journey  to  Scot- 
land, that  being  the  only  place  where,  in  her  situation, 
the  marriage  could  be  legally  solemnized.  A  clerical 
friend  of  the  baronet's,  who  dwelt  just  over  the  borders, 
could  perform  the  rite  with  every  proper  respect. 


430  THADbmrs  op  wausa  w. 

While  these  young  runaways,  chaperoned  by  an  old 
maiden  aunt,  were  pursuing  their  rapid  flight  across  the 
Tweed,  Sir  Robert  sent  his  steward  to  London  to  prepare 
a  house  near  his  own  in  Grosvenor  Square  for  the  recep- 
tion of  the  bridal  pair.  During  these  necessary  arrange- 
ments, a  happy  fortnight  elapsed  at  Deerhurst — thrice 
happy  to  Mary,  because  its  tranquil  hours  imparted  to  her 
long-doubting  heart  "a  sober  certainty  of  that  waking 
bliss"  which  had  so  often  animated  with  hope  the  visions 
of  her  imagination,  when  contemplating  the  mystery  of 
such  a  mind  as  that  of  Thaddeus  having  been  destined  to 
the  humble  lot  in  which  she  had  found  him.  Morning, 
noon,  and  evening  the  loving  companion  of  the  Count 
Sobieski,  she  saw  with  deepened  devotedness  that  the 
brave  and  princely  virtues  did  not  reign  alone  in  his 
bosom.  Their  full  luster  was  rendered  less  intense  by  the 
softening  shades  of  those  gentler  amenities  which  are  the 
soothers  and  sweeteners  of  life.  His  breast  seemed  the 
residence  of  love — of  a  love  that  not  only  infused  a  warmer 
existence  through  her  soul,  but  diffused  such  a  light  of 
benevolence  over  every  being  within  its  influence  that 
all  appeared  happy  who  caught  a  beam  of  his  eye — all 
enchanted  who  shared  the  magic  of  his  smile.  Under 
what  different  aspects  had  she  seen  this  man!  Yet  how 
consistent!  At  the  first  period  of  their  acquaintance,  she 
beheld  him,  like  that  glorious  orb  which  her  ardent  fancy 
told  her  he  resembled,  struggling  with  the  storm,  or  look- 
ing dimmed,  yet  unmoved,  through  the  clouds  which 
obscured  his  path;  but  now,  like  the  radiant  sun  of  sum- 
mer amid  a  splendid  sky,  he  seemed  to  stand  the  source  of 
light,  and  love,  and  joy. 

Thus  did  the  warm  fancy  and  warmer  heart  of  Mary 
Beaufort  paint  the  image  of  her  lover;  and  when  Sir 
Robert  received  intelligence  that  the  Scottish  party  had 
arrived  in  town  and  were  impatient  for  the  company  of 
the_ beloved  inhabitants  of  Deerhurst,  while  preparing  to 
revisit  the  proud  and  gay  world,  she  confessed  that  some 
embers  of  human  pride  did  sparkle  in  her  own  Taosom  at 
the  anticipation  of  witnessing  the  homage  which  they  who 
had  despised  the  unfriended  Constantine  would  pay  to 
the  declared  and  illustrious  Sobieski. 

The  newH  of  Lady  Albina's  marriage  infuriated  the 
Earl  of  Tmemouth  almost  to  frenzy.     Well  assured  that 


TfiADBEUS  OF  WARSAW.  43? 

hfs  withholding  her  fortune  would  occasion  no  vexation  to 
a  family  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset's  vast  possessions,  he  gave 
way  to  still  more  vehement  bursts  of  passion,  and  in  a  fit 
of  impotent  threatening  embarked  with  all  his  household 
to  spend  the  remainder  of  the  season  on  his  much-disre- 
garded estates  in  Ireland. 

This  abrupt  departure  of  the  earl  caused  Lady  Albina 
little  uneasiness.  His  unremitted  cruelty,  her  brother's 
indifference,  and  the  barbed  insults  of  Lady  Olivia  Lovel, 
now  the  earl's  wife,  rankled  too  deeply  in  the  daughter's 
bosom  to  leave  any  filial  regret  behind.  Considering 
their  absence  a  suspension  cf  pain  rather  than  a  punish- 
ment, she  did  not  stain  the  kiss  which  she  imprinted  on 
the  revered  cheek  of  her  new  parent  with  one  tear  to  the 
memory  of  her  unnatural  father. 

While  all  was  splendor  and  happiness  in  Grosvenor 
Square,  Thaddeus  did  not  forget  the  excellent  Mrs.  Rob- 
son.  He  hastened  to  St.  Martin's  Lane,  where  the  good 
woman  received  him  with  open  arms.  Nanny  hung, 
crying  for  joy,  upon  his  hand,  and  sprang  rapturously 
about  his  neck  when  he  told  her  he  was  now  a  rich  man, 
and  that  she  and  her  grandmother  should  live  with  him 
forever.  "I  am  going  to  be  married,  my  dear  Mrs.  Rob- 
son,"  said  he;  ''that  ministering  angel  who  visited  you 
when  I  was  in  prison  was  sent  to  wipe  away  the  tears  from 
my  eyes."  Drying  the  cheek  of  his  weeping  landlady, 
while  he  spoke,  with  his  own  handkerchief,  he  continued: 
"She  commanded  me  not  to  leave  you  until  you  had 
assured  me  that  you  will  brighten  our  happiness  by  taking 
possession  of  a  pretty  cottage  close  to  her  house  in  Kent. 
It  is  within  Beaufort  Park,  and  there  my  Mary  and  my- 
self will  visit  you  continually." 

"Blessed  Mr.  Constantine!"  cried  the  worthy  woman, 
pressing  his  hand;  "myself,  my  Nanny,  we  are  yours; 
take  us  where  you  please,  for  wherever  you  go,  there  will 
the  Almighty's  hand  lead  us,  and  there  will  his  right 
hand  hold  us." 

The  count  rose  and  turned  to  the  window;  his  heart 
was  full,  and  he  was  obliged  to  take  time  to  recover  him- 
self before  he  could  resume  the  conversation.  He  saw  her 
twice  after  this;  and  on  the  day  of  her  departure  for 
Kent,  to  await  in  her  own  new  home  his  and  his  Mary's 
arrival  there,  he  put  into  her  hand  the  first  quarterly  pay- 


438  THADDECS  OP  WAUSAW. 

ment  of  an  annuity  which  would  henceforward  afford  her 
every  comfort,  and  raise  her  to  that  easy  rank  in  society 
which  her  gentle  manners  and  rare  virtues  were  so  admi- 
rably fitted  to  adorn.  Neither  did  he  neglect  Mr.  Burket. 
It  was  not  in  his  nature  to  allow  any  one  who  served  him 
to  pass  unrewarded.  He  called  on  him  on  the  last  day  he 
visited  St.  Martin's  Lane  (when  Mrs.  Watts,  too,  shared 
his  bounty),  and  having  repaid  him  with  a  generosity 
which  astonished  the  good  money-lender,  he  took  back  his 
sword,  and  the  venerated  old  seals  he  had  left  with  Mrs. 
Robson  to  get  repaired  by  the  same  honest  hand ;  also  the 
other  precious  relics  he  had  had  refitted  to  their  original 
settings,  and  pressing  them  mournfully  yet  gratefully  to 
his  breast,  reentered  Sir  Robert's  carriage  to  drive  home. 
What  bliss  to  his  heart  was  in  that  word! 

Next  day  Thaddeus  directed  his  steps  to  Dr.  Caven- 
dish's. He  found  his  worthy  friend  at  home,  who  re- 
ceived him  with  kindness.  But  how  was  that  kindness 
increased  to  transport  when  Thaddeus  told  him,  with  a 
smiling  countenance,  that  he  was  the  very  Sobieski  about 
whose  wayward  fate  he  had  asked  so  many  ill-answered 
questions.  The  delighted  doctor  embraced  him  with  an 
ardor  which  spoke  better  than  language  his  admiration 
and  esteem.  His  amazement  having  subsided,  he  was 
discoursing  with  animated  interest  on  events  at  once  so 
fatal  and  so  glorious  to  Sobieski,  when  a  gentleman  was 
announced  by  the  name  of  Mr.  Hopetown.  He  entered; 
and  Dr.  Cavendish  at  the  same  time  introducing  Thaddeus 
as  the  Count  Sobieski,  Mr.  Hopetown  fixed  his  eyes  upon 
him  with  an  expression  which  neither  of  the  friends  could 
comprehend.  A  little  disconcerted  at  the  merchant's 
seeming  rudeness,  the  good  doctor  attempted  to  draw  off 
the  steadiness  of  his  gaze  by  asking  how  long  he  had  been 
in  England. 

"I  left  Dantzic,"  replied  he,  "about  three  weeks  ago; 
and  I  should  have  been  in  London  five  days  since,  but  a 
favorite  horse  of  mine,  which  I  brought  with  me,  fell  sick 
at  Harwick,  and  I  waited  until  he  was  well  enough  to 
travel." 

While  he  spoke  he  never  withdrew  his  eyes  from  the 
face  of  Thaddeus,  who  at  the  words  Dantzic  and  horse 
recollected  his  faithful  Saladin;  almost  hoping  that  this 
Mr.  Hopetown  might  prove  to  be  the  Briton  to  whom  he 


Til  A  DDHUS  OF  WAttSA  W.  430 

had  consigned  the  noble  animal,  he  took  a  part  in  the 
conversation  by  inquiring  of  the  merchant  whether  he 
were  a  resident  of  Dantzic. 

"No,  your  excellency,"  replied  he;  "I  live  within  a 
mile  of  it.  Several  years  ago  I  quitted  the  smoke  and 
bustle  of  the  town  to  enjoy  fresh  air  and  quiet." 

"Last  year,"  replied  Sobieski,  "I  passed  through 
Dantzic  on  my  way  to  England.  I  believe  I  saw  your 
house,  and  remarked  its  situation.  The  park  is  beauti- 
ful." 

"And  I  am  indebted,  count,"  resumed  the  merchant, 
"to  a  nobleman  of  your  country  for  its  finest  ornament:  I 
mean  the  very  horse  I  spoke  of  just  now.  He  was  sent  to 
me  one  morning,  with  a  letter  from  his  brave  owner,  re- 
questing me  to  give  him  shelter  in  my  park.  He  is  the 
most  beautiful  animal  I  ever  beheld.  Unwilling  to  leave 
behind  so  valuable  a  deposit,  when  I  came  to  England  I 
brought  him  with  me." 

"Poor  Saladin!"  cried  Thaddeus,  his  heart  overflowing 
with  remembrance;  "how  glad  I  shall  be  to  see  thee!" 

"What!  was  the  horse  yours?"  asked  Dr.  Cavendish, 
surprised  at  this  apostrophe. 

"Yes,"  returned  Thaddeus,  "he  was  mine!  and  I  owe 
to  Mr.  Hopetown  a  thousand  thanks  for  his  generous 
acquiescence  with  the  prayers  of  an  unfortunate  stranger." 

"No  thanks  to  me,  Count  Sobieski.  The  moment  I 
entered  this  room  I  recollected  you  to  be  the  same  Polish 
officer  I  had  observed  on  the  beach  at  Dantzic.  "When  I 
described  your  figure  to  the  man  who  brought  the  horse, 
he  said  it  was  the  same  who  gave  him  the  letter.  I  could 
not  learn  your  excellency's  name;  but  I  hoped  one  day  or 
other  to  have  the  pleasure  of  meeing  you  again,  and  of 
returning  Saladin  into  your  hands  in  as  good  condition  as 
when  he  came  to  mine." 

Tears  started  into  the  eyes  of  Thaddeus. 

"That  horse,  Mr.  Hopetown,  has  carried  me  through 
many  a  bloody  field;  he  alone  witnessed  my  last  adieu  to 
the  bleeding  corpse  of  my  country!  I  shall  receive  him 
again  as  an  old  and  dear  friend ;  but  to  his  kind  protector, 
how  can  I  ever  demonstrate  the  whole  of  my  gratitude?"  * 

*  The  love  of  Thaddeus  to  his  horse  has  had  some  resemblances  in 
the  author's  knowledge  in  yet  more  rerpnt  times.  It  seems  to  belong 
to  the  brave  heart  of  every  couniiy  ill  ^ar  civilized  Europe,  aa  well 


4  4 0  THA  DDEV8  OP  WA  USA  W. 

"To  have  had  it  in  my  power  to  serve  the  Count  Sobieski 
is  a  privilege  of  itself,"  returned  Mr.  Hopetown.  "I  am 
proud  of  that  distinction;  to  be  called  the  friend  of  a  man 
whom  all  the  world  honors  will  be  a  title  which  John  Hope- 
town  may  be  proud  of." 

Before"  the  worthy  merchant  took  his  leave,  he  promised 
Thaddeus  to  send  Saladin  to  Grosvenor  Square  that  even- 
ing, and  accepted  his  invitation  to  meet  him  and  Dr. 
Cavendish  the  following  day  at  dinner  at  Mr.  Somerset's. 


CHAPTEK  XLIX. 

"  If  I  forget  thee,  O  Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  forget  her 

cunning." 

Lady  Albina  Somerset's  arrival  in  London  was  greeted 
by  the  immediate  visits  of  all  the  persons  in  town  who  had 
been  esteemed  by  the  late  Countess  of  Tinemouth,  or  on 
intimate  terms  with  the  baronet's  family.  It  was  not  the 
gay  season  for  the  metropolis.  Among  the  earliest  names 
that  appeared  at  her  door  were  those  of  Lord  Berrington, 
the  Hon.  Captain  and  Mrs.  Montresor,  and  the  Rev.  Dr. 
Blackmore.  Under  any  circumstances,  either  in  the 
country  or  in  town,  Mr.  Somerset  and  his  young  bride 
did  not  propose  opening  their  gates  to  more  general 
acquaintances  until  Miss  Beaufort  and  the  count  were 
married,  and  both  bridal  parties  had  been  presented  at 
court  in  the  spring.     To  this  little  select  group  of  friends 

as  in  that  of  the  wild  Arab  of  the  desert,  to  companion  itself  with  bis 
war  steed  as  with  a  friend  or  brother.  I  knew  more  tban  one  gallant 
man  who  wept  over  the  doom  of  his  old  charger  wben  shot  in  tbe 
lines  near  Corunna;  and  another,  of  tbe  same  and  other  fields,  wbo 
can  never  mention  without  turning  pale  tbe  name  of  his  faithful  and 
beloved  borse  Columbus,  wbo  bad  carried  him  through  various  dan- 
gers on  tbe  South  American  continent,  and  at  last  perished  by  his 
side  during  a  tremendous  storm  at,  sea,  when  no  exertions  of  his 
master  could  save  him.  These  are  pangs  of  which  only  those  who 
have  the  generous  sensibility  to  feel  them  can  have  any  idea.  But 
they  are  true  to  the  noble  nature  of  whieh  the  inspired  page  speaks 
wben  it  says.  "  The  just  man  is  merciful  to  bis  beast."     (1822.) 

Tbe  benignant  master  of  the  regretted  Columbian  steed  was  the 
late  Sir  R.  K.  Porter,  tbe  lamented  brother  of  the  yet  surviving 
writer  of  the  preceding  note.     (1845.) 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  Ail 

who  were  to  assemble  round  Mr.  Somerset's  table  on  the 
appointed  day,  Thaddeus  informed  him,  with  frank 
pleasure,  that  he  had  taken  the  liberty  of  adding  Dr. 
Cavendish  and  Mr.  Hopetown,  of  Dantzic. 

Lady  Albina  received  the  two  strangers  with  graceful 
hospitality.  The  affianced  Mary,  with  an  equally  blush- 
ing grace,  presented  her  hand  to  the  generous  protector 
of  Saladin,  accompanying  the  action  with  a  modest 
acknowledgment  of  her  interest  in  an  animal  so  deservedly 
dear  to  the  Count  Sobieski.  He  had  turned  to  meet  Lord 
Berrington  and  the  ever-lively  Sophia  Egerton  (now  Mrs0 
Montresor),  who  both  advanced  to  him  at  the  same  instant 
to  express  their  gratulations  not  only  at  seeing  him  again, 
but  in  a  situation  of  happy  promise,  so  consonant  to  his 
avowed  rank  and  personal  early  fame. 

Thaddeus  replied  to  their  felicitations  with  a  smiling 
dignity,  in  that  ingenuous  manner  peculiarly  his  own. 
He  was  not  a  little  surprised  when  Dr.  Blackmore  soon 
after  recognized  him  to  be  the  noble  foreigner  whose 
appearance  had  so  much  excited  his  attention,  about  a 
twelvemonth  ago,  at  the  Hummums,  in  Covent  Garden. 
The  count  did  not  recollect  the  circumstance  of  having 
seen  the  good  doctor  there;  but  the  venerable  man  reca- 
pitulated the  scene  in  the  coffee-room  through  which  the 
count  had  passed,  describing,  with  no  little  animation,  "a 
pedantic-mannered  person,  dressed  in  black,  and  wearing 
spectacles  (whose  name  he  afterward  learned  was  Loftus), 
an  M.A.  of  one  of  the  colleges,  who  took  the  liberty  to 
make  some  not  very  liberal  remarks  on  the  number  of 
noble  strangers  then  confiding  themselves  to  the  honorable 
sanctuary  and  sympathy  of  our  country." 

Pembroke  could  hardly  hear  the  benevolent  speaker  to 
the  end ;  stifling  any  audible  expression  of  his  reawakened 
indignation,  he  whispered  to  the  baronet,  "My  dear 
father!  recent  happy  events  have  made  us  almost  forget 
that  villain's  baseness;  but  I  pray,  let  him  not  remain 
another  week  a  blot  upon  our  house's  escutcheon." 

"All  shall  be  done  as  you  wish,"  returned  his  father,  in 
the  same  subdued  tone;  "but  let  us  remember  how  much 
of  that  recent  happiness  the  goodness  of  Providence  hath 
brought  out  of  this  wretched  man's  offense.  Were  I 
extreme  to  mark  what  is  done  amiss,  how  could  I  abide 
the  sentence  that  might  be  justly  pronounced  against  my- 


442  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

self?     To-morrow  we  will  talk  over  this  matter,  and  settle 
it,  I  trust,  with  satisfaction  to  all  parties." 

Pembroke  gratefully  pressed  his  father's  hand,  and 
then,  walking  up  the  room,  addressed  Mrs.  Montresor.  In 
a  few  minutes  her  brave  husband  joined  them.  While 
talking  of  his  late  victorious  and  happily  completed  home- 
ward-bound voyage,  he  spoke  with  great  regret  of  the 
threatened  absence  from  England  of  his  late  colleague  on 
the  battle-field  of  the  ocean,  his  old  friend   Captain  Eoss. 

"How — whither  is  he  going?"  asked  his  wife,  in  a  tone 
of  interest. 

Montresor  replied,  "The  ill  state  of  Lady  Sara's  health 
requires  a  milder  air,  and  poor  Eoss  means  to  take  her 
without  loss  of  time  to  Italy.  I  met  him  this  morning, 
in  despair  about  the  suddenness  of  some  alarming  symp- 
toms." 

Thaddeus  too  well  divined  that  this  increased  indisposi- 
tion owed  its  rise  to  his  recent  return  to  town,  and  in- 
wardly petitioning  Heaven  that  absence  and  her  husband's 
devoted  tenderness  might  complete  her  cure,  he  could  not 
repress  a  sigh,  wrung  from  his  respectful  pity  toward  her, 
in  this  deep  bosom-struggle  with  herself. 

No  one  present  except  the  future  partner  of  his  own 
heart  marked  the  transient  melancholy  which  passed  over 
his  countenance.  She,  who  had  suspected  the  unhappy 
Lady  Sara's  attachment,  loved  Thaddeus,  if  possible,  still 
dearer  for  the  compassion  he  bestowed  on  the  meek  peni- 
tence of  the  unhappy  victim  of  a  passion  often  as  inscru- 
table as  destructive. 

When  the  party  descended  to  dinner,  Miss  Dorothy, 
who  sat  next  to  the  Count  Sobieski,  rallied  him  upon  the 
utter  desertion  of  one  of  his  most  pertinacious  allies  or 
adversaries — she  did  not  know  which  to  call  the  fair  delin- 
quent. "For  admiring  or  detesting  seemed  quite  the 
same  to  some  ladies,  so  they  did  but  show  their  power  of 
mischief  over  any  poor  mortal  man  they  found  in  their 
way!" 

This  strange  attack,  though  uttered  in  perfect  good 
humor  by  the  lively  old  lady,  following  so  closely  the  infor- 
mation relative  to  Lady  Sara  Eoss,  summoned  a  fervid 
color  into  the  count's  face;  he  looked  surprised,  and 
rather  confused,  at  the  revered  speaker,  who  soon  gayly 
related  what  she  had  been  told  that  morning  by  her  mil- 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  443 

liner,  of  "Miss  Eupliemia  Dnndas  being  on  the  point  of 
marriage  with  a  young  Scotch  nobleman  in  Berwickshire; 
and  in  proof,  her  elegant  informant,  Madame  de  Maradon, 
was  making  the  bridal  trousseau.'''' 

'  So  much  the  better  for  all  straight-going  people,  ma 
cliere  tanle,"  cried  Pembroke;  "little  Pnemy  was  no  con- 
temptible assailant  either  way.  Besides,"  added  he, 
turning  airily  to  his  own  gentle  bride,  "you,  my  young 
iady,  may  congratulate  yourself  on  the  same  good  hope 
I  hear  that  an  old  turf-comrade  of  mine  is  going  to  take 
her  loving  sister  off  my  hands.  Come,  Lord  Berrington, 
you  must  verify  my  report,  for  I  learned  it  from  you." 

IIis  lordship  smiled,  and  answered  in  the  affirmative, 
adding  that  a  friend  of  his  in  Lincolnshire  had  written 
to  him  as  most  amusing  news,  that  "the  most  worthy 
Orson,  heir  of  all  the  lands,  tenements,  stables,  and  ken- 
nels of  the  doughty  Sir  Helerand  Shafto,  of  that  ilk,  and 
twenty  ilks  besides  north  of  the  Humber,  had  been  dis- 
covered by  the  wonderful  occult  penetration  possessed  by 
the  exceedingly  blue  sorceress-lady,  Miss  Diana  Dnndas 
(of  as  many  ilks  north  of  the  Tweed),  to  be  no  Orson  at 
all,  but  her  very  veritable  Valentine,  to  whom  she  was 
now  preparing  to  give  her  fair  and  golden-garnished  hand 
in  the  course  of  the  forthcoming  month ;  that  is,  when 
the  season  of  hunting  and  shooting  is  past  and  gone,  and 
the  chase-wearied  pair  may  turn  themselves,  with  their 
blown  horses  and  hounds,  to  a  little  wholesome  rustication 
in  their  homestead  fields." 

"I  wotdd  not  be  their  companion  for  Nebuchadnezzar's 
crown!"  reiterated  Pembroke,  laughing. 

Sobieski,  not  suppressing  the  smile  that  played  on  his 
lip  at  the  whimsical  description  given  by  Lord  Berrington's 
correspondent,  wished  the  nuptials  happy,  as  far  as  the 
parties  could  comprehend  the  feeling.  The  viscount  in 
return  protested  that  their  Polish  friend  was  "more  gen- 
erous than  just  in  such  a  benediction." 

"I  vow  to  Heaven,"  cried  his  lordship,  "that  I  never 
knew  people  the  aim  of  whose  lives  seemed  so  bent  on  sly 
mischief  as  those  two  sisters.  Euphemia,  pretty  as  she  is, 
is  better  known  by  her  skill  in  tormenting  than  by  her 
beauty.  And  as  for  the  poor  squire  Diana  has  conjured 
into  matrimony,  I  have  little  doubt  of  his  future  baited 
fate  when  she  springs  her  dogs  of  war  upon  that  petted 
deerl" 


444  THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW. 

"Ah,  poor  fool!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Montresor,  "I  warrant 
he  will  not  escape  the  punishment  he  merits,  for  stepping 
between  the  goddess  and  her  delectable  Endymion,  Las- 
celles." 

"Quarter  for  an  old  acquaintance!"  whispered  Miss 
Beaufort,  in  a  beseeching  voice. 

"She  does  not  deserve  it  of  you!"  returned  the  lady, 
pursuing  her  ridiculous  game  until  both  Miss  Dorothy 
and  Sir  Eobert  petitined   for  mercy  from  so  fair  a  judge. 

Thaddeus,  who  possessed  not  the  disposition  to  exult  in 
the  misconduct  or  mischances  of  any  one  who  had  injured 
him,  felt  this  part  of  the  conversation  the  least  pleasant 
on  that  happy  day,  and  to  change  its  strain,  he,  in  his 
turn,  whispered  to  his  father  to  "prevail  on  Lady  Albina 
to  indulge  his  friend  Mr.  Hopetown  by  singing  a  few 
passages  from  that  beautiful  ballad  of  the  Scottish  borders, 
'Chevy  Chase,'  which  had  so  delighted  their  own  family 
party  the  preceding  evening." 

He  did  not  ask  this  "charmed  resource"  from  his  own 
betrothed,  because  it  was  only  at  the  close  of  that  very 
preceding  evening  he  had  for  the  first  time  heard  her 
voice,  "in  sweetest  melody,"  chanting  forth  the  parting 
anthem  for  the  night,  "From  the  ends  of  the  earth,  I  will 
call  upon  thee,  0  Lord,"  and  with  tones  of  a  kindred 
pathos,  too  thrilling  to  a  son's  startled  ear  and  memory 
to  be  invoked  again  in  a  mixed  company. 

Strange,  indeed,  it  might  be,  but  it  was  a  sacred  balm 
to  his  soul  when  these  recurring  remembrances  discovered 
to  his  heart  in  the  young  and  lovely  future  partner  of  his 
life  a  bond  of  union  with  that  angelic  mother  who  had 
given  him  being;  and  perhaps  this  devoted  filial  heart 
(/alone  could  appreciate  the  joy,  the  comfort,  the  bliss  of 
such  a  similitude!  But  in  after  days  he  shared  those  feel- 
ings with  his  father,  bringing  to  his  regretful  bosom  a  sooth- 
ing perception  of  the  likeness. 

Lady  Albina  instantly  complied,  casting  a  sweet  glance 
at  Sir  Eobert,  who  immediately  led  her  to  the  piano-forte, 
followed  by  the  Scottish  merchant  of  the  Baltic,  whither 
the  noble  symphony  of  "The  Douglas,"  "hound  and 
horn,"  soon  gathered  the  rest  of  the  company.  The  re- 
mainder of  the  evening  passed  away  delightfully  in  the 
awakened  harmony.  Mrs.  Montresor  joined  Lady  Al- 
bina in  some  touching  Italian  duets;  Pembroke  supported 


THA  DDWl r8  OF  WARSA  W.  445 

both  ladies  in  a  fine  trio  of  Mozart's;  Mr.  Hopetown 
requested  another  favorite  son  of  his  country,  "Auld 
Robin  Gray,"  and  himself  repaid  Lady  Albina's  kind 
assent  by  a  magnificent  voluntary  on  his  part,  "Scots  wha 
hae  wi'  Wallace  bled."  Mary  accompanied  that  well- 
known  pibroch  of  "The  Bruce"  with  a  true  responsive 
echo  from  her  harp;  but  she  declined  singing  herself,  and 
when  Thaddeus  took  the  relinquished  instrument  from 
her  hand,  he  pressed  it  with  a  silent  tenderness,  sweeter 
to  her  than  could  have  been  the  plaudits  of  all  the  accom- 
plished listeners  around.  That  soft  hand  had  stroked  the 
branching  neck  of  his  recovered  Saladin  the  same  morn- 
ing, and  the  happy  master  now  marked  his  feeling  of  the 
gentle  deed. 

In  the  course  of  a  few  days,  Pembroke's  wishes  with 
regard  to  Mr.  Loftus  were  put  into  a  train  of  fulfillment, 
Dr.  Blackmore  having  undertaken  to  find  a  fitting  tutor 
for  the  young  Lord  Avon,  and  in  the  interim  would  receive 
him  into  his  own  classical  instruction,  whenever  it  should 
be  deemed  proper  to  terminate  his  present  holiday  visit 
in  Bedfordshire.  But  while  Sir  Robert  had  thus  adjudged 
the  guilty,  he  was  careful  not  to  expose  him  to  fresh 
temptations  nor  to  suffer  his  crimes  to  implicate  the 
innocent  in  its  punishment.  Hence,  in  pity  to  age  and 
helplessness,  he  determined  to  settle  two  hundred  pounds 
per  annum  on  the  wretched  man's  mother  and  sisters, 
who  dwelt  together  in  Wales.  Shortly  after,  in  conse- 
quence of  his  contrite  confession,  that  "all  Mr.  Somer- 
set's allegations  against  him  were  too  true,"  the  humane 
father  and  son  appointed  one  hundred  pounds  more  to  be 
paid  yearly  to  the  culprit  himself,  so  that  at  least  he 
might  not  be  induced  to  lighten  his  honest  labors  for  a 
suitable  subsistence  by  renewed  villainies.  With  reference 
to  the  benefice  of  Somerset,  which  had  been  the  ill-sought 
price  of  this  base  pretender  to  sanctity  and  truth,  Sir 
Robert  decided  on  presenting  it  to  the  exemplary  Dr. 
Blackmore  whenever  it  should  become  vacant. 

Meanwhile,  the  baronet's  sojourn  in  town  became  indis- 
pensably prolonged,  not  only  by  the  simple  nature  of  the 
affairs  that  brought  him  thither,  but  by  certain  unlooked- 
for  intricacies  occurring  in  making  a  final  adjustment  of 
the  various  settlements  and  consequent  conveyances  to  be 
effected  on  account  of  the  two  felicitous  marriages  in  his 


446  THADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

family.  During  these  lingering  proceedings  among  the 
legal  protectors  of  "soil  and  surety,"  Miss  Beaufort  re- 
mained the  cherished  and  cheering  guest  of  the  already 
espoused  pair,  one  of  whom,  indeed,  still  wore  the  garb  of 
"a  mourning  bride,"  but  all  within  was  clad  in  the  true 
white  robe  of  nuptial  purity  and  peace.  Sobieski  was  the 
now  no  less  privileged  abiding  inmate  in  the  home  and 
heart  of  Sir  Robert  Somerset.  Increasing  daily  in  favor 
with  "good  Aunt  Dorothy,"  the  presiding  mistress  of  his 
father's  house,  he  soon  became  nearly  as  precious  in  her 
sight  as  had  long  been  the  pleasant  society  of  her  nephew 
Pembroke.  And  all  this  her  ingenuous  and  affectionate 
nature  avowed  to  Mary  in  their  frequent  visits  between 
the  two  houses  with  a  sort  of  delighted  wonder  at  her 
heart's  so  prescient  recognition  of  the  new  nephew  her 
sweet  niece  was  to  bestow  upon  her.  For  it  had  not  yet 
been  revealed  to  her  that  Thaddeus  did  stand  in  that 
same  tender  relationship  to  her  by  a  former  marriage  of 
her  beloved  brother  with  the  lamented  mother  of  the 
noble  object  of  her  cherished  esteem.  And  what  was  the 
double  joy  of  the  blessed  moment  when  that  happy  secret 
was  confided  to  her  bosom ! 

The  last  busy  month  of  autumn  in  London  had  not  only 
laid  down  its  wearied  head  under  the  dark  canopy  of  a 
murky  atmosphere,  lit  with  dimmed  street-lamps  to  its 
slumbers,  but  its  expected  refreshment  in  the  country  did 
not  offer  much  more  agreeable  materials  for  repose  and 
vernal  renovation.  There  were  blustering  winds  strewing 
the  recently  green  earth  with  beds  of  withered  leaves  of 
every  foliage,  stripped  and  fallen  from  the  shivering  woods 
above.  And  there  were  drenching  rains,  laying  the  lately 
pleasant  fields  in  trackless  swamps  and  swelling  the  clear 
and  gentle  brooks  into  brawling  floods,  rending  asunder 
the  long-remembered  rustic  bridges  which  had  hitherto 
linked  the  villages  together,  in  convenient  passages  for 
wholesome  relaxation  or  useful  toil. 

Such  were  the  newspaper  accounts  from  the  country 
during  the  latter  part  of  November;  but  there  was  seen  a 
fairer  prospect  from  the  carriage  windows  of  Sir  Robert 
Somerset,  when  he  and  his  gladdened  party  one  I 
morning,  on  quitting  the  splashy  environs  of  Hamn. 
smith  and  Brentford,  entered  the  broad  expanse  of  Houns- 
low  Heath,  on  their  way  into  Warwickshire,  and  beheld  its 


TEADDEUS  OF  WARSAW.  447 

wide  common  covered  with  a  fair  carpet  of  spotless  snow. 
Winter  had  then  seriously,  or  rather  smilingly,  set  in.  It 
was  the  10th  of  December;  and  the  baronet,  having  signed 
and  sealed  all  things  necessary  to  transfer  with  perfect 
satisfaction  himself  and  family  (as  was  always  his  custom 
at  this  homeward  season),  now  set  forth  to  one  or  other  of 
his  ancient  domains  to  pass  his  Christmas  in  the  bosom  of 
an  enlarged  and  a  grateful  domestic  happiness.  Thus 
year  after  year  he  diffused  from  each  of  those  parental 
mansions  that  bounteous  hospitality  to  high  and  low  which 
he  considered  to  be  an  especial  duty  in  an  English  gentle- 
man, whether  in  the  character  of  "landlord"  to  noble 
guests  and  respected  neighbors,  or  to  wayfaring  strangers 
passing  by;  or  while  graciously  mingling  with  his  widely 
established  tenantry  or  his  equally  regarded  daily  guests  at 
this  "holy  festival,"  the  virtuous,  lowly  peasantry,  laborers 
on  the  land.  Then  smiled  the  cottager,  with  honest  con- 
sciousness of  yeoman  worth,  when  seated  in  the  great  hall 
under  the  eye  of  his  munificent  lord,  who  partook  of  the 
general  feast.  Then,  too,  did  he  smile  when,  at  the  head 
of  his  own  little  board,  he  sat  with  his  children  and 
humbler  dependents,  all  furnished  with  ample  Christmas 
fare  by  the  baronet's  still  open  hand. 

When  Thaddeus  shared  these  primeval  scenes  of  Old 
England  by  the  side  of  his  British  parent  (which  festivi- 
ties are  still  honorably  preserved  by  some  of  its  most 
ancient  and  noblest  families),  they  brought  back  to  his 
heart  those  similar  assemblages  at  Villanow  and  in  Cra- 
covia,  where  his  revered  grandfather,  the  palatine,  had 
reigned  prince  and  father  over  every  happy  breast.* 

And  happy  were  now  the  recollections  of  all  who  met  at 
Deerhurst  on  this  their  first  joyful  Christmas  season! 
*  Week  after  week  glided  along  in  the  bland  exercise  of  social 
duties,  aided  by  the  more  home-felt  enjoyments  of  sweet 
domestic  affections,  which  gave  a  living  grace  to  all  that 
was  said  or  done,  and  more  intimately  knit  hearts  together, 
never  more  to  be  divided. 

But  winter's  howling  blasts  and  sheltering  halls,  "where 

writer  remembers  a  similar  scene  to  the  above  when  she  bad 

ir  of  dining,  along  with  her  revered  family,  on  a  festival  of 

.  rft-home    at    Bushy    Palace,    when   its   royal    owner,   his  late 

majesty,  was  Duke  of  Clarence.     Himself  moved  through  his  rustic 

guests  in  the  gracious  manner  described 


448  TBADDEUS  OF  WARSAW. 

fireside  comforts,  taste,  and  gentle  love,  with  soft  amenities 
mingled  into  bliss,"  swiftly  and   fairer,   changed   their 

Eleasant  song,  proclaiming  in  every  brightening  hue  the 
ymn  of  nature : 

"  These,  as  they  change,  Almighty  Father! 
Are  but  the  varied  God!     The  rolling  year 
Is  full  of  thee!    Forth  in  the  pleasing  spring 
Thy  beauty  walks,  thy  tenderness  and  love;" 

and  in  the  first  month  of  that  genial  season,  when  the 
young  grass  covers  the  downy  hills  with  verdure,  and  the 
glowing  branches  of  the  trees  bud  with  an  infant  foliage, 
the  sun  smiles  in  the  heavens,  and  the  pellucid  streams 
reflect  his  glorious  rays,  the  day  was  fixed  by  Sir  Eobert 
Somerset,  and  approved  by  the  beloved  objects  of  his  then 
peculiar  solicitude,  in  which  his  paternal  hand  should 
plight  theirs  together  before  the  altar  of  eternal  truth. 

The  solemnity  was  to  be  performed  in  the  village 
church,  which  stood  in  the  park  of  Deerhurst,  and  the 
Eev.  Dr.  Blackmore,  who  came  over  from  his  own  private 
dwelling  in  Worcestershire,  accompanied  by  his  pupil, 
Lord  Avon,  was  to  perform  the  holy  rite.  No  adjunct  of 
the  Koman  Catholic  ceremony  (then  the  national  church 
of  Poland)  was  needful  fully  to  legalize  it.  Thaddeus 
from  his  infancy  had  been  reared  in  the  Protestant  faith, 
the  faith  of  his  mother,  whose  own  mother  was  a  daughter 
of  the  stanch  Hussite  race  of  the  princely  Zamoiski,  who 
still  professed  that  ancient,  simple  creed  of  their  country. 
It  was  also  the  national  faith  of  him  who  had  given 
Therese's  son  being;  therefore,  to  the  same  pure  doctrine 
of  Christianity  had  she  dedicated  his  deserted  child;  and 
should  they  ever  meet  again,  she  believed  it  must  be  be- 
fore the  throne  of  Divine  Mercy;  and  there  she  trusted  to 
present  their  solitary  offspring  with  the  sacred  words: 
''Here  I  am,  Lord,  and  the  child  thou  didst  give  me." 

But  to  return  to  the  marriage-day  itself.  The  hour 
having  arrived  in  which  the  soul-devoted  Mary  Beaufort 
was  to  resign  herself  and  her  earthly  happiness  into  the 
power  of  the  only  man  to  whom,  having  once  beheld  and 
known  him,  she  could  ever  have  committed  them,  she 
pronounced  her  vows  at  the  sacred  altar  with  unsteadiness 
of  tongue,  but  with  a  fixed  heart.  And  when,  after  em- 
bracing all  the  fond  kindred  so  long  dear  to  her,  and  now 


TEA  1)  D  E  US  OF  WA  IiSA  W.  449 

to  him,  and  having  received  their  parting  blessings  within 
the  walls  of  her  ever-cherished  home — sweet,  while  familiar 
Deerhurst — she  was  driven  rapidly  through  its  gates,  while 
a  mixed  and  awed  emotion  agitated  her  breast.  But  im- 
mediately she  felt  the  supporting  arm  of  her  husband 
gently  pressing  her  trembling  form;  and  so,  with  all  that 
Husband's  tender  sympathy,  the  hours  glided  away  unper- 
ceived,  till  the  august  towers  of  her  own  native  domain 
appeared  on  the  evening  horizon,  and  soon  afterward  she 
alighted  at  the  mansion  itself,  having  passed  along  a  cen- 
tral avenue  of  ancient  oaks  amid  the  congratulatory  cheers 
of  a  large  assemblage  of  her  tenantry  on  horseback  and  on 
foot,  planted  on  each  side,  to  bid  a  glad  welcome  to  their 
"liege  lady  and  her  lord." 

Within  the  great  entrance  of  the  baronial  hall,  which 
opened  to  her  by  the  immediate  raising  of  a  massive  brazen 
portcullis,  the  ancient  insignia  of  the  Beaufort  name,  she 
received  the  joyful  obeisance  of  the  old  domestics  of  her 
honored  parents,  hailing  her,  their  beloved  daughter, 
with  a  humble  ardor  of  affection  that  bathed  her  enrup- 
tured  face  with  filial  tears.  Thaddeus  felt  the  scene  in 
his  own  recollective  heart. 

Next  morning  Mrs.  Robson  and  the  delighted  Nanny 
(dressed  in  a  white  frock  for  the  blissful  occasion),  on  being 
brought  into  the  countess'  private  saloon,  threw  them- 
selves at  the  feet  of  their  benefactors  and  sobbed  forth 
their  happiness.  The  still  more  happy  Sobieski  raised 
them  in  his  arms,  and,  embracing  both,  accosted  the  old 
lady  as  he  would  have  done  a  revered  relative,  and  the 
affectionate  little  girl  like  an  adopted  child. 

The  same  day  the  vicar  of  Beaufort,  whose  large  rural 
parish  extended  from  the  castle  to  several  miles  around, 
rode  to  the  gate,  and  was  announced  by  name  (the  Rev. 
Mr.  Tillotson),  to  pay  his  pastoral  duty  to  his  future 
noble  neighbors  and  sacred  charge,  the  owners  of  the  land. 

"His  is  a  good  name,"  observed  Mary,  with  a  gracious 
smile;  "it  was  borne  by  one  of  the  brightest  luminaries  of 
our  Protestant  Church,  Archbishop  Tillotson,  whose 
works  you  will  find  in  the  family  library,  now  your  own. 
And  his  descendant,  the  revered  late  vicar,  christened  me 
in  the  dear  old  church  of  the  adjacent  village,  to  which 
we  go  to-morrow,  Sunday.  Oh,  how  much  have  I  to  bless 
Heaven  for  in  that  holy  place!"  she  tenderly  ejaculated. 


450  THADD'EUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

"Yon,  kneeling  by  my  side  there — one  faith,  one  heart, 
one  death,  one  salvation.  Oh,  my  husband,  I  am  blessed 
indeed!" 

"My  Mary,  in  earth  and  heaven!"  was  his  soul's  re- 
sponse, and  with  the  words  he  pressed  her  fervently 
clasped  hands  with  a  hallowed  emotion  to  his  lips. 

In  a  few  minutes  after  this  she  led  the  way  to  the 
ancient  library,  tapestried  with  family  portraits,  and  fur- 
nished with  bookoases  of  every  past  generation.  Thither 
the  young  vicar,  a  truly  worthy  successor  to  his  pious 
father,  had  been  conducted;  and  there,  being  introduced 
by  the  countess  (who  had  seen  him  only  once  before)  to 
her  lord,  they  found  him  not  merely  a  clergyman  to  be 
respected,  but  an  accomplished  general  scholar  and  a 
polished  man.* 

Thus  was  Thaddeus,  the  long-cherished  orphan  of  a 
broken  paternal  vow,  by  a  wondrous  providence  established 
in  his  new  British  character — a  husband,  and  an  owner  of 
large  estates  in  the  soil.  And  he  soon  became  fully  sensible 
to  the  double  commission  devolved  upon  himself. 
Whether  as  a  son  of  Poland,  in  right  of  the  life  he  had 
drawn  from  his  mother's  bosom,  or  as  one  equally  claimed 
by  England,  in  right  of  his  paternal  parent,  he  was  well 
prepared  to  faithfully  fulfill  their  relative  duties,  with  a 
zeal  to  each  respondent  to  the  important  privileges  and 
blessings  of  so  signal  a  lot.  In  two  short  preceding  years 
he  had  indeed  passed  through  a  host  of  severe  trials;  but 
in  all  he  had  been  supported  by  an  Almighty  hand,  and 
under  the  same  gracious  trust  he  now  looked  forward  to  a 
long  Sabbath  of  hallowed  peace,  and  of  grateful  service  to 
Him  who  bestowed  it. 

He  had  met  it  at  Deerhurst,  when  under  his  father's 
roof;  he  maintained  it  at  Beaufort,  the  seat  of  his  most 
continuous  residence;  nor  did  he  neglect  its  duties  at 
Manor  Court,  Sir  Robert's  parental  gift,  and  his  own  near 
neighborhood.  And  when  the  time  came  round  for  the 
family  to  revisit  Loudon,  his  pleasures  there  were  of  a 

*  Over  the  gate-like  arch  of  the  library  door  bad  been  erected,  by  a 
recent  order  from  tbe  gentlest  band  now  witbin  its  walls,  a  simple 
but  exquisitely  carved  escutcheon,  showing  the  armorial  bearing  of 
tbe  ancient  and  royal  bouse  of  Sobieski — a  crowned  buckler,  with  the 
family  motto,  "  God  is  the  shield  that  eovera  me," 


THADDEU8  OF  WARSAW.  451 

character  to  correspond  with  his  pursuits  in  the  country, 
the  happiness  of  others  being  the  source  of  his  own  en- 
joyments. 


CHAPTER  L. 

"We  are  brethren!" 

After  the  termination  of  the  Count  Sobieski's  first 
Easter  passed  with  the  beloved  of  his  soul  in  the  home  of 
her  ancestors,  they  proceeded  together  to  join  Sir  Robert 
Somerset,  and  their  kind  aunt,  Miss  Dorothy,  in  Grosvenor 
Square,  to  become  again  his  welcome  guests,  and  always 
thereafter  when  in  town,  while  Heaven  prolonged  their 
lives  to  renew  the  cherished  reunion  at  each  succeeding 
season. 

Thus  it  was  that,  immediately  subsequent  to  the  holy 
festival,  the  now  revered  Lord  of  Beaufort  cheerfully 
obeyed  his  father's  summons  to  London,  where  he  found 
Pembroke  and  Lady  Albina  already  resettled  in  their 
former  residence.  Having  ere  long  met  the  gratulatory 
calls  of  his  metropolitan  friends,  he  daily  beheld  his  lovely 
bride — lovely  in  mind  as  in  person — becoming  more  and 
more  "the  worshiped  cynosure  of  neighboring  eyes;" 
not  only  adorning  the  highest  circles  of  society,  but  filling 
his  home  with  all  the  ineffable  charms  of  a  wedded  life, 
inspired  by  the  gentle  graces  of  domestic  tenderness. 

One  balmy  evening  in  May,  when  he  and  his  young- 
countess  were  driving  out  alone  together,  which  they  some- 
times did,  that  she  might  have  the  delight  of  showing  to 
him  the  varied  rural  environs  of  the  great  and  gay  royal 
city  of  England,  the  carriage,  by  her  direction,  took  its 
course  toward  Primrose  Hill,  then  crowned  by  a  grove  of 
"fair  elm  trees,"  and  clothed  with  a  vesture  of  green 
sward,  enameled  with  wild  flowers.  Thence  the  light 
vehicle  threaded  a  maze  of  shady  lanes  and  pleasant  field 
paths,  into  a  rustic,  newly  made  road,  leading  a  little  to 
the  north  of  Covent  Garden.* 

Mary  proposed  stopping  a  few  minutes  in  that  magnifi- 
cent general  garden  of  the  town,  to  purchase   a  bouquet 

*  All  this  lias  since  become  Regent's  Park  and  its  dependencies, 
whether  streets  or  squares. 


452  TEA DDEUS  OF  WA  RSA  W. 

of  early  roses,  to  present  to  Sir  Robert  on  their  return 
from  their  drive. 

When  the  carriage  drew  up  at  the  entrance  of  the  great 
parterre,  she  stepped  out  to  select  them.  Having  quickly 
combined  their  fragrant  beauties,  she  put  the  nosegay 
into  the  hand  of  one  of  the  servants  to  place  on  the  seat. 
Being  nigh  the  church  porch,  she  suddenly  expressed  a 
wish  to  her  husband,  on  whose  arm  she  leaned,  to  walk 
through  the  churchyard,  and  that  the  carriage  should 
meet  them  at  the  opposite  gate. 

Thaddeus,  not  being  aware  that  this  porch  belonged  to 
the  church  where  his  veteran  friend  had  been  buried, 
gave  instant  assent;  and  before  he  had  time  to  make  more 
than  a  few  remarks  on  the  pure  religious  architecture  of 
the  building,  which  he  thought  had  attracted  his  tasteful 
bride  to  take  a  nearer  view,  she  had  led  him  unconsciously 
to  the  general's  grave.  But  it  was  no  longer  the  same  as 
when  Sobieski  last  stood  by  its  side.  A  simple  white 
marble  tomb  now  occupied  the  place  of  its  former  long 
grass  and  yarrow.  Surprised,  he  bent  forward,  and  read 
with  brimming  eyes  the  following  inscription: 

1795-6. 

Stop,  Traveler!     Thou  treadest  on  a  Hero. 

Here  rest  the  mortal  remains 

of 

LIEUTENANT-GENERAL  BUTZOU, 

Late  of  the  Kingdom  of  Poland. 

A  faithful  soldier  to  his  Lord  and  to  his  country! 

He  sleeps  in  Faith  and  Hope! 

Thaddeus  for  a  moment  felt  as  he  did  when  he  beheld 
those  "mortal  remains"  laid  there.  But  his  own  faith  in 
that  hope  which  consecrated  this  mortality  to  an  immortal 
resurrection  had  then  silently  spread  the  balm  of  its  full 
assurance  over  all  those  remembered  pangs;  and  now, 
without  speaking,  he  led  his  also  pensive  and  tremulous 
companion  to  her  carriage,  where  it  awaited  them,  and 
seating  her  within  it,  clasped  her  to  his  breast.  His  tears, 
no  longer  restrained,  poured  those  sweet  pledges  of  a  soul- 
felt  approbation  into  her  bosom  that  made  it  even  ache 
with  excess  of  happiness.  But  while  the  grateful  voice  of 
her  husband  was  beginning  to  breathe  its  uttered  thanks, 
he  found  the  carriage  stop  again,  in  a  street  not  far  dis- 


THADDhJUS  OF  WARSAW.  453 

iant  from  the  one  they  had  just  quitted.  It  drew  tip  at 
the  door  of  a  handsome  house,  of  an  apparently  contem- 
porary structure  with  the  church.  It  was  the  rectory  of 
St.  Paul's,  Covent  Garden,  and  at  its  portals  stood  the 
reverend  incumbent,  evidently  awaiting  to  receive  his 
guests. 

Thaddeus  perceived  him,  and  also  the  welcome  of  his 
position;  so  did  his  gentle  wife,  who  with  a  blushing  smile 
explained  all  the  alterations  he  had  observed  on  the  re- 
spected grave,  avowing  that  they  had  been  done  at  her 
devoted  wish,  and  were  effected  by  the  kind  agency  of 
that  venerable  man,  the  rector  of  the  church,  the  Honor- 
able Bruce  Fitz-James.  She  then  timidly  added  (and  how 
beautiful  in  that  timidity!)  she  had  something  more  to 
confess;  she  had  ventured,  after  obtaining  permission  of 
the  rector  for  the  erection  of  the  monument,  to  see  it  once 
during  its  progress,  and  then  to  promise  him  that  on  its 
completion  her  honored  husband,  the  Count  Sobieski, 
whose  parental  friend  that  noble  dead  had  been,  would, 
when  she  revealed  her  secret  to  him,  pay  a  personal  visit 
along  with  herself  to  her  beneficent  coadjutor,  and  duly 
express  their  united  gratitude.  She  had  scarcely  spoken 
her  rapid  information,  when  its  courteous  object  descended 
the  portal  to  approach  the  carriage.  His  hat  was  taken 
off,  and  the  snow-white  hair,  blown  suddenly  by  a  gust 
of  wind  across  his  benign  brow,  a  little  obscured  his  face, 
while  he  conducted  the  lady  from  the  carriage  up  the  steps 
of  his  door.  But  Sobieski  found  no  difficulty  in  recogniz- 
ing the  time-blanched  locks,  which  had  been  wetted  by 
the  weeping  heavens  in  that  hour  of  his  lonely  sorrow, 
while  committing  to  the  dust  the  remains  of  him  whose 
sacred  memorial  he  had  just  contemplated,  raised  by  a 
wife's  dear  hand. 

With  these  recollections  had  arisen  the  image  of  the 
pale,  delicately  formed  boy  who  had  gazed  so  compassion- 
ately into  his  eyes  while  taking  as  he  thought  his  last  look 
at  that  humble  grave;  and  with  this  bland  recurrence 
came  also  the  almost  closing  words  of  the  solemn  service, 
seeming  again  to  proclaim  to  his  heart,  "I  heard  a  voice 
from  heaven,  saying  unto  me,  Write,  From  henceforth 
blessed  are  the  dead  who  die  in  the  Lord!" 

With  calmed  feelings  and  perfectly  recovered  self-pos- 
session,  Thaddeus  now  followed    his  beloved   wife  (his 


454  TBADDEUS  OP  WARSAW. 

solace  and  his  joy),  led  by  her  delighted  host,  into  the 
bright-paneled  parlor  of  the  rectory,  where  the  mutual 
introduction  instantly  took  place. 

The  beneficent  old  man,  with  a  polished  sincerity,  de- 
clared his  high  gratification  at  this  visit  from  the  Count 
Sobieski,  brought  to  him  by  the  gracious  lady  who  so 
deservedly  shared  his  illustrious  name.  Thaddeus,  with 
his  usual  modest  dignity,  received  the  implied  compli- 
ment, and  expressed  his  just  sense  of  the  deep  obligation 
conferred  on  him  and  his  countess  by  the  last  consecrated 
rite  to  the  memory  of  his  most  revered  friend. 

Mary  was  then  seated  on  an  old-fashioned  silk-em- 
broidered settee,  opposite  to  the  flower-latticed  bay-win- 
dow of  the  apartment.  The  rector,  with  a  courteous  bow, 
which  in  his  youth  would  have  been  called  graceful,  as  if 
confident  of  a  permitted  privilege,  placed  himself  beside 
her,  while  observing  to  her  lord,  in  reply  to  these  un- 
feigned thanks,  that  "the  reported  name  alone  of  the 
veteran  patriot  who  lay  there  had  not  ceased  from  the  day 
of  his  interment  to  attract,  shrine-like,  the  pilgrim  feet  of 
many  persons  to  the  spot  who  respected  and  bewailed  the 
fate  of  Poland." 

Sobieski's  cheek  flushed  and  his  eye  kindled  at  this 
testimony.  To  change  a  subject  which  he  found  wrought 
too  powerfully  on  the  recently  regained  serenity  of  his 
mind,  he  affectionately  inquired  for  the  amiable  boy  he 
had  seen  take  so  touching  an  interest  in  the  mournful 
errand  to  the  churchyard  on  that  ever-remembered  day, 
and  who,  like  a  ministering  seraph,  had  so  guardingly 
watched  the  exposed  head  of  his  revered  master,  under 
the  pitiless  element  then  pouring  down. 

"He  is  my  nephew,"  returned  the  rector,  in  a  tone  of 
tenderness:  "Lord  Edward  Fitz-James.  He  is  in  delicate 
health;  the  youngest  of  my  eldest  brother,  the  Marquis 
Fitz-James,  who  married  late  in  life.  Edward  is,  indeed, 
what  he  appears,  a  spirit  of  innocent,  happy  love  or  of 
condoling  commiseration,  wherever  his  gentle  footsteps 
move.  And  when  I  rejoin  him  this  autumn,  at  his 
father's  house  in  Scotland,  and  shall  tell  him  that  the 
never-forgotten  chief  mourner  at  that  simple  bier,  with 
whom  his  own  young  tears  fell  in  spontaneous  sympathy, 
was  the  Count  Sobieski — a  kinsman  of  his  own,  whose 
character  was  already  known  to  him  in  its  youthful  fame 


THADDEVS  OF  WARSAW.  455 

and  by  its  honored  name — what  will  be  that  meek  child's 
exulting  ecstasy!" 

"A  kinsman'of  that  noble  boy?"  echoed  Thaddeus,  in 
surprise.     "How  may  I  flatter  myself  it  can  be  so?" 

Mary  simultaneously  uttered  an  amazed  ejaculation  of 
pleasure  at  the  idea  of  any  real  relationship  between  that 
venerable  man  and  herself;  and  he,  with  an  answering  look 
of  kindred  respect  on  both  tho  astonished  husband  an; 
his  bride,  replied  to  the  former  with  the  unstudied  brevity 
of  truth. 

"A  few  sentences  will  explain  it,  for  I  consider  it  un- 
necessary to  remind  my  present  auditors  of  two  great 
events  in  their  respective  countries.  First,  with  regard  to 
England;  the  change  of  royal  succession  in  the  Stuart 
line,  from  the  branch  of  which  James  the  Second  was  the 
head,  to  that  of  Brunswick — a  backward  step,  originating 
in  Elizabeth  of  Bohemia,  the  daughter  of  James  the  First, 
and  therefore,  the  aunt  of  James  the  Second.  At  the 
height  of  these  eventful  circumstances,  the  offended 
sovereign  retired  with  his  exemplary  queen  and  their 
infant  son  to  the  Continent.  There  the  royal  boy  con- 
tinued to  be  styled  by  his  father's  adherents,  James  Prince 
of  Wales,  but  in  the  general  world  was  usually  known  by 
the  cognizance  of  the  Chevalier  St.  George. 

"This  is  the  first  link  in  our  bracelet,  noble  lady!" 
observed  the  narrator,  with  a  smile,  and  then  proceeded. 
"I  now  advance  to  my  second  part,  the  crisis  of  which 
took  place  in  Poland,  about  the  same  period.  At  the 
death  of  the  great  John  Sobieski,  King  of  Poland,  the 
father  of  his  people,  there  arose  a  deep-rooted  conspiracy 
in  certain  neighboring  states,  jealous  of  his  late  power 
and  glorious  name,  determining  to  undermine  the  acces- 
sion of  his  family  to  the  throne;  and  they  found  an  apt 
soil  to  work  on  in  a  corresponding  feeling  ready  to  break 
out  among  some  of  the  most  influential  nobles  of  the 
realm.  Foreign  and  domestic  revolutionists  soon  under- 
stand each  other;  and  the  dynasty  of  Sobieski  being 
speedily  overturned  by  the  double  treason  of  pretended 
friends  and  false  allies,  his  three  princely  sons  withdrew 
from  occasioning  the  dire  conflict  of  a  civil  war,  two  into 
distant  lands,  the  other  to  tho  ancestral  patrimony,  in 
provinces  far  from  the  intrigues  of  ambition  or  the  temp- 
tation of  its  treacherous  lures. 


456  THADDEUS  OF  WAESA  W. 

"The  two  elder  brothers,  m  a  natural  indignation 
against  the  popular  ingratitude,  took  the  expatriating  des- 
tination. But  Constantine,  the  youngest  born,  with  the 
calm  dignity  of  a  son  without  other  desired  inheritance  than 
the  honor  of  such  a  parent,  retired  to  the  tranquil  seclusion 
of  the  castled  domain  of  Olesko,  the  ancient  fortified 
palace  of  his  progenitors,  on  the  Polish  border  of  Eed 
Eussia;  and  there,  in  philosophic  quiet,  he  passed  his 
blameless  days  with  science  and  the  arts,  and  in  deeds  of 
true  Christian  benevolence — the  purport  of  his  life.  This 
respected  seclusion  was  ultimately  sweetly  cheered  when 
'woman  smiled'  upon  it,  in  the  form  of  a  fair  daughter 
of  a  neighboring  magnate  in  the  adjacent  province,  whose 
noble  retirement,  sharing  the  same  patriotic  principles 
with  those  of  Constantine,  yielded  to  the  young  philoso- 
pher a  lovely  helpmate  for  him. 

"Prince  James,  his  eldest  brother,  had  meanwhile  mar- 
ried a  sister  of  their  early  associate  in  arms,  the  brave 
Charles  of  Newburg,  when  under  the  royal  banner  of 
Sobieski,  in  the  memorable  field  of  Vienna.  Alexander, 
the  second  son,  also  met  with  a  distinguished  bride  in 
Germany.  Both  princes  were  accomplished  and  hand- 
some men;  but  one  of  our  countrymen,  contemporary  and 
family  physician  to  the  late  king,  familiarly  describes 
them  in  his  curious  reminiscences,  thus:  'His  majesty 
possessed  a  fine  figure;  he  was  tall  and  graceful.  The 
nobleness  and  elevation  of  his  soul  were  deeply  depicted 
in  his  countenance  and  air.  Prince  James  is  dark-com- 
plexioned, slender  in  person,  and  more  like  a  Spaniard 
than  a  Pole;  he  is  very  social,  courteous,  and  liberal. 
Alexander  is  of  more  manly  proportions,  and  of  a  true 
Sarmatian  physiognomy.  But  Constantine  is  an  exact 
likeness  of  the  king,  his  father.'  "* 

"And  such  was  my  ever-revered  grandsire,  his  only 
son!"  responded  the  heart  of  Thaddeus,  but  he  did  not 
utter  the  words.  Meanwhile,  the  enthusiastic  historiog- 
rapher of  a  period  he  was  so  seldom  called  to  touch  on 
proceeded  without  a  pause. 

"In  process  of  time,  one  fair  scion  from  this  illustrious 
stock  became  engrafted  on  our  former  royal  stem.     I  mean 

*  The  writer  of  this  note  has  seen  a  magnificent  picture  of  that 
glorious  king,  a  full-length,  the  stature  of  life.  It  was  nobly  paiutei 
by  an  artist  of  the  period- 


TBADDWS  OF  WARSA  W.  457 

her  highness  the  Lady  Clementina,  the  daughter  of  Prince 
James  of  Poland,  who,  after  his  rejection  of  all  foreign 
aid  to  reestablish  him  in  his  father's  kingdom,  had,  like 
the  abdicated  monarch  of  England,  gone  about  a  resigned 
pilgrim,  'seeking  a  better  country,'  till  the  two  families 
auspiciously  met,  to  brighten  each  other's  remainder  of 
earthly  sojourn  at  St.  Germains,  in  France.  Then  came 
the  'sweet  bindwith,'  the  royal  maid,  the  Prince  Sobieski's 
beauteous  daughter,  to  give  her  nuptial  hand  to  the  only 
son  of  the  exiled  king;  and  so,  most  remarkably,  was 
united  the  equally  extraordinary  destinies  of  the  regal 
race  of  the  heroic  John  Sobieski  with  that  of  our  anointed 
warrior,  Robert  Bruce,  in  the  person  of  his  princely 
descendant,  James  Fitz-James,  in  diplomatic  parlance 
styled  the  Chevalier  de  St.  George;  and  from  that  blended 
blood,  and  by  family  connection,  sprung  from  the  same 
branching  tree,  I  feel  sanguinely  confident  that  the  claim 
I  have  set  up  for  myself  and  gentle  nephew,  whose  kin- 
dred spirit  the  warm  heart  of  the  Count  Sobieski  has 
already  acknowledged,  will  not  be  deemed  an  old  man's 
dream." 

A  short  silence  ensued. 

Thaddeus  had  been  riveted  with  an  almost  breathless 
attention  to  this  part  of  the  narrative,  some  of  its  public 
circumstances  having  found  a  dim  recollection  in  his 
mind ;  but  his  apprehensive  mother  had  always  turned  him 
aside  from  any  line  in  his  historical  reading  which  might 
particularly  engage  his  ever-wakeful  interest  to  the  chival- 
rous nation  of  his  own  never-avowed  parentage,  and  from 
which  a  father's  desertion  had  expatriated  him  even  before 
his  birth.  But  now,  how  ample  had  been  the  atonement, 
the  restitution,  to  this  forsaken  son! 

Not  being  able  to  express  any  of  the  kindled  feelings 
this  narration  had  suggested,  added  to  the  daily  increas- 
ing claims  the  blessing  of  such  an  atonement  were  hourly 
making  on  his  best  affections,  he  could  only  grasp  the 
hand  of  the  venerated  speaker  with  a  fervent  pressure 
Avhen  he  ceased.  But  Mary,  irradiating  smiles,  the  ema- 
nating light  of  her  soul  then  at  her  Maker's  feet,  gently 
breathed  her  ardent  felicitations  at  what  she  had  just 
heard,  which  had  indeed  established  her  kindred  with  the 
venerated  friend  whose  kindness  had  met  her  so  unre- 
servedly as  a  stranger. 


458  THADDEUS  OF  W A 118 AW. 

When  the  little  party  so  signally  brought  together,  to 
become  mutually  entwined,  as  if  already  known  to  each 
other  for  years  instead  of  minutes — when  they  became 
composed,  after  the  excited  emotions  of  the  disclosure  had 
subsided,  the  reverend  host,  now  considering  the  count 
and  countess  rather  as  young  cousins  to  be  honored  than 
as  guests  to  be  entertained,  conversed  awhile  more  partic- 
ularly with  regard  to  the  marquis  and  his  family,  and 
finally  accepted,  with  declared  pleasure,  the  earnest  invi- 
tation of  his  gladly  responsive  new  relatives  to  accompany 
them  the  following  day,  when  they  would  call  for  him  in 
their  carriage,  to  dine  with  their  dearest  guardian  and 
parental  friend,  Sir  Eobert  Somerset. 

"He  is  my  Mary's  maternal  uncle,"  remarked  Thad- 
deus,  with  a  calm  emphasis,  "and  has  been  to  me  as  a 
father  in  this  her  adopted  land.  I  found  a  brother,  also, 
in  his  admirable  son,  Mr.  Somerset,  whom,  with  his 
young  bride,  you  will  meet  to-morrow  at  Sir  Eobert's 
family  table.  Hence,  my  revered  kinsman,  you  see  what 
England  still  does  in  her  kind  bosom  for  a  remnant  of  the 
race  of  Sobieski." 

The  appointed  hour  next  day  arrived.  The  count  called 
for  his  friend,  who  was  ready  at  the  door  of  the  rectory 
mansion,  and,  after  much  interesting  conversation  during 
the  drive,  conducted  him  into  the  presence  of  the  baronet. 
Sir  Eobert  greeted  his  guest  in  perfect  harmony  with  the 
filial  eloquence  of  Sobieski,  in  describing  his  adopted 
father's  ever-gracious  heart,  and  consequent  benignant 
manners.  Thaddeus  had  repeated  to  Sir  Eobert  the  re- 
vealments  of  yesterday's  visit  to  the  honorable  and  reverend 
rector  of  St.  Paul's,  which  had  so  stirringly  mingled  with 
his  own  most  cherished  memories. 

The  cordial  reception  thus  given  to  the  revered  narrator 
gratified  him,  as  a  full  repayment  for  his  imparted  confi- 
dence of  the  day  before,  though  he  could  not  be  aware  of 
the  real  paternal  fountain  from  which  these  warm  wet 
comes  flowed.  But  Thaddeus  recognised  it  in  every  word, 
look,  and  act  of  his  beloved  father,  and  with  his  "mother 
in  his  heart,  he  appreciated  all. 

Dr.  Cavendish  and  Dr.  Blackmore  had  been  added  zo 
the  party.  Sincere  esteem,  with  an  ever-grateful  recollec- 
tion of  the  past,  always  spread  the  board  of  Sobieski  for 
the  former,  whenever  he  might  have  leisure  to  enrich  it 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  459 

with  his  highly  intellectual  store.  Dr.  Blackmore  had 
arrived  the  preceding  evening  with  Lord  Avon,  grown  a 
fine  youth,  to  pass  a  few  days  with  his  patron  and  friend, 
Sir  Robert  Somerset,  on  his  way  to  transfer  his  noble 
charge  to  the  tutorage  of  the  fully  competent,  though 
young,  vicar  of  Beaufort,  Mr.  Tillotson.  Lord  Avon  was 
to  reside  in  the  vicarage,  but  would  also  possess  the  con- 
stant personal  care  of  his  friends  at  the  castle,  and  a 
home  invitation  to  visit  there,  with  his  accomplished  tutor, 
whenever  it  should  be  agreeable  to  Mr.  Tillotson  to  bring 
him. 

The  rector  of  St.  Paul's  and  the  recently  inducted  rector 
of  Somerset  (whither  he  was  proceeding  after  he  should 
have  deposited  his  young  lordship  at  Beaufort)  were  re- 
spectively introduced  to  each  other — worthy  brethren  in 
the  pure  Church  they  were  equally  qualified  to  support 
and  to  adorn. 

When  dinner  was  announced,  the  Rev.  Bruce  Fitz- 
James  received  the  hand  of  the  cheerful  Miss  Dorothy  to 
lead  her  down.  She  had  given  him  a  frank  greeting  of 
relationship  on  his  being  presented  to  her,  as  mistress  of 
her  brother's  house,  on  his  first  entrance  into  the  draw- 
ing-room. During  the  social  repast,  much  elegant  and 
intellectual  conversation  took  place,  and  promises  were 
solicited,  both  then  and  after  the  banquet,  by  the  mem- 
bers of  the  family  group  from  their  several  guests  for 
visits  at  the  seasons  most  pleasant  to  themselves,  to  Deer- 
hurst,  to  Somerset,  and  to  Beaufort.  The  venerable  Fitz- 
James  and  his  young  nephew  were  particularly  besought 
by  Thaddeus  and  his  Mary,  who  anticipated  a  peculiar 
delight  in  becoming  intimately  acquainted  with  that  in- 
teresting boy.  Lord  Avon  they  hoped  might  prove  a 
companionable  attraction  to  the  latter. 

The  invitations  were  cordially  accepted,  the  paternal 
uncle  of  the  young  Lord  Edward  not  doubting  the  ready 
approbation  of  his  brother,  the  marquis.  And  it  was 
arranged  that  both  at  Beaufort  and  at  Deerhurst  the  whole 
of  the  baronet's  family  group  should  be  assembled,  includ- 
ing Mr.  Somerset  and  his  gentle  lady,  whose  placid  graces 
moved  round  his  ever-sparkling  vivacity  with  a  softly 
tempering  shade. 

Thus,  day  after  day,  week  after  week,  while  continuing 
in   town,  time  passed  on  in  the  alternate  interchanges  of 


460  THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W. 

domestic  tranquillity  and  the  active  exercises  of  those 
duties  to  society  in  general,  and  to  the  important  de- 
mands of  public  claims  on  the  present  stations  of  the 
several  individuals  on  whom  such  calls  were  made. 

Nor  in  the  country,  when  returned  to  their  separate 
dwelling-places,  did  the  same  happy  and  honorable  routine 
cease  its  genial  round.  Pembroke's  most  stationary  resi- 
dence was  Somerset  Castle,  his  father's  beneficent  repre- 
sentative, whose  favorite  home  was  Deerhurst.  And  thus 
mutually  endeared,  and  worthy  of  their  Heaven-bestowed 
stewardship,  we  leave  the  family  of  Sir  Eobert  Somerset. 

We  leave  Thaddeus  Sobieski,  now  one  of  its  most  be- 
loved members,  blessed  in  the  fruition  of  every  earthly 
good.  The  virtues,  the  muses,  and  the  charities  were  the 
chosen  guests  at  his  abundant  table.  Poverty  could  not 
veil  genius  from  his  penetration,  nor  misfortune  obscure 
the  inborn  light  of  its  integrity.  Though  exiled  from 
his  native  land,  where  his  birth  gave  him  dominion  over 
rich  territories,  now  in  the  hands  of  strangers,  and  a 
numerous  happy  people,  now  no  more,  he  had  not  yet 
relinquished  the  love  of  empire.  But  it  was  not  over 
principalities  and  embattled  hosts  that  he  desired  to  pro- 
long the  scepter  of  command.  He  wished  to  reign  in  the 
soul.  His  throne  was  sought  in  the  hearts  of  the  good, 
the  kind,  the  men  of  honest  industry,  and  the  unfortu- 
nate, on  whom  prosperity  had  frowned.  In  fact,  the 
unhappy  of  every  degree  and  nation  found  consolation, 
refuge,  and  repose  within  the  sheltering  domains  of  Beau- 
fort. No  eye  looked  wistfully  on  him  to  turn  away  dis- 
appointed; his  smiles  cheered  the  disconsolate,  and  his 
protecting  arms  warded  off,  when  possible,  the  approach 
of  new  sorrows.  ''Peace  was  within  his  walls,  andplente- 
ousness  within  his  palaces." 

And  when  a  few  eventful  months  of  the  succeeding  year 
had  distinguished  its  course  with  the  death  of  the  imperious 
destroyer  of  Poland,  and  General  Kosciusko  (having  been 
set  at  liberty  by  her  generous  successor,  and  honorably 
empowered  to  go  whither  he  willed)  had  arrived  in  England 
on  his  way  to  the  United  States,  he  sought  and  found 
Thaddeus,  his  young  comrade  in  the  fields  of  Poland,  and 
was  hailed  with  the  warmest  welcome  by  that  now  indeed 
truly  "comforted"  brave  and  last  representative  of 
.the  coble  race  and  name  of  the  glory  of  hig  eotjntry>  the 


THADDEUS  OF  WARSA  W.  461 

more  than   once    Gideon-shield    of    Christendom — John 
Sobieski. 

"Ah,  my  chief!"  cried  he,  while  he  clasped  the  veteran 
to  his  breast,  "I  am  indeed  favored  above  mortals.  I 
see  thee  again,  on  whom  I  believed  the  gates  of  a  ruthless 
prison  had  closed  forever!  I  have  all  that  remains  of  my 
country  now  within  my  arms.  Kosciusko,  my  friend,  my 
father,  bless  your  son!" 

Kosciusko  did  bless  him,  and  embalmed  the  benediction 
with  a  shower  of  tears  more  precious  than  the  richest 
unction  that  ever  flowed  on  a  royal  head.  They  were 
drawn  from  a  Christian  soldier's  heart — a  true  patriot  and 
a  hero. 

Sobieski  presented  his  lovely  wife  to  this  illustrious 
friend,  and  while  he  gratefully  acknowledged  the  rare 
felicity  of  his  ultimate  fate,  he  owned  that  the  retrospec- 
tion of  the  past  calamity,  like  a  shade  in  a  picture,  gives 
to  our  present  bliss  greater  force  and  brightness.  But 
that  such  felicity  was  his,  he  could  only  ascribe  to  the 
gracious  providence  of  God,  who  "trieth  the  spirit  of 
man,"  and  can  bring  him  to  a  joy  on  earth  even  like  unto 
a  resurrection  from  the  dead.  And  the  conclusion  is  not 
even  then ;  "there  remaineth  yet  a  better  life,  and  a  better 
country  for  those  who  trust  in  the  Lord  of  earth  and 
heaven!" 


THE  END. 


AA    000  606  586    6 


